Mighty Wings
by 6GunSally
Summary: Military AU. LT Miles Edgeworth arrives onboard the carrier as the Strike Group's new Staff Judge Advocate. He runs into his old flame Phoenix Wright, whom he hasn't seen in almost six years. Can they pick up where they left off? Or have they grown too far apart? WARNING: May contain gratuitous quoting of Taylor Swift...
1. Carrier Onboard Delivery

_**Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).**_

 _ **This story is set in a military AU. It is not intended as a commentary on the US Navy, nor is the US Navy affiliated with this IN ANY WAY. Come on, you know you've always wanted to see AA:JAG… Aside from the use of 'Judge Advocate General' this story has nothing to do with JAG the TV show. Otherwise it would've been a crossover.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Carrier Onboard Delivery**

* * *

Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth put on the cranial they'd given him, following the instructions of the Second Class Petty Officer Air Crewman explaining to him and the other passengers the safety procedures they had to follow. This flight was going to be packed.

He'd arrived in Naples only a few hours ago and was still groggy from a long flight on the rotator from Norfolk. It felt like he'd been traveling for weeks, even though he'd only left less than two days ago.

This wasn't his first time overseas—Miles had spent more than ten years of his life in Germany—but this was his first time underway. He hadn't even landed yet and he was already ready to go back.

The Air Crewman was now explaining what they would do should they have to bail over water. She pointed out every strap on their life vests and what to pull to inflate it, to turn on the rescue beacon… Miles wanted to board that funny little plane less and less.

"Make sure you wait until you get out of the plane before activating your floatation device," she said.

If that plane crashed into the ocean, we'd all drown, Miles thought. These vests are only a safety blanket. He was starting to sweat in his cranial. Or maybe it was the heat.

They'd sat in the over-crowded terminal for nearly four hours. Apparently the next leg on the rotator had been delayed. Those of them headed to the Aircraft Carrier, Miles included, were eventually picked up by the ship's beach det and brought to the military airfield to catch the COD to the ship.

It was pretty hot. Miles stared at the asphalt beneath his feet wishing he could sit. One of the other men in the group was on his cell phone talking to his wife or girlfriend or whatever. You'd think he was headed into a war zone and not one of the Navy's state of the art Supercarriers—the way he was simpering to her, or him, or whatever. The concrete of the airstrip glittered over bright in the sun and after a glance in that direction Miles was forced to close his eyes and point his head toward the ground.

"Hey Miles," the girl said, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he shook his head and blinked, "I just did something stupid."

He smiled sheepishly at her. She'd told him her name was Kay, after he'd introduced himself as Miles. They'd met in Norfolk while waiting for the flight that brought them to Naples. They sat together on the flight as well—neither of them knew anyone else—and Miles had found her pleasant to talk to. Except when the plane stopped in the Azores to refuel. That's when she'd admitted to him that she was a seaman just leaving 'A' school and headed to her first duty station.

Her situation was not quite so different than his—except he'd left the Naval Justice School as a Lieutenant Junior Grade. In the few short years he'd been a Naval Officer, it had already been properly impressed upon him that Lieutenants don't make friends with seamen.

But he was only talking to her, right? It didn't mean anything, right? What if someone was watching them?

Miles rubbed his eyes and tapped his foot while the wait dragged on.

"Hurry up and wait, right?" Kay said, "That's what the military is all about."

Miles smiled lightly at that and bit the inside of his lip—he certainly wasn't going to encourage her.

"Okay everyone line up," the Air Crewman clapped her hands at the group and then pointed at him, "Are you Lieutenant Edgeworth?"

Miles nodded, surprised that he was being called out.

"Sir, I need you to get to the back of the line."

Miles complied just catching Kay's reaction at learning that her newfound friend was an officer. She looked a little angry and utterly disappointed.

The group was led single file to the ugly little plane. Both props whirred and the last of their luggage was being loaded and secured. Miles watched the other Air Crewman toss bags of mail and boxes haphazardly into the hold. It was a little disconcerting to watch.

They entered the plane from the back, walking up a ramp under the tail and filling the forward-most seats first until they reached the very aft of the plane. The seats faced the tail though and Miles ended up sitting in the very front (or back) with the ramp gaping in front of him.

They didn't have to wait long for the Air Crewmen to finish their checks and join the passengers in the seating area. Miles frowned at the ramp as it was raised, the mechanism for raising and lowering it was somewhere near the bulkhead he was sitting beside and it was terribly loud.

The plane itself was loud in every way. Military planes did not have same amount of soundproofing material on the bulkheads and the cabin was not pressurized. The only saving grace on this flight was the fact that they would taxi and take off like a normal plane, and not be catapulted like they would've been off of the carrier.

Despite the heat, then the sudden and severe cold, then the heat again; and the loudness of the plane, Miles managed to doze off. The flight was short, only about forty minutes and Miles awoke as soon as he felt the descent. Suddenly the tires hit and the plane stopped. Odd. No rolling to a stop, just the bump and sudden stop. That must be the trap. Miles let out a sigh of relief—even though the flight was not as bad as he'd expected it to be.

They filed out of the COD just as they had boarded and the plane's crew directed them to stand on the flight deck in a group not far from the plane, but near enough to be identified as the newly arriving passengers. No one was allowed to remove their cranial. One by one their luggage was passed along a chain of people until each piece reached its owner. It was actually very efficient, Miles thought as he watched, doing his part when he needed to. When his seabag got to him he slid it onto his back as quickly as he could so as not to disrupt the chain.

The same female Air Crewman led them away from the COD and across the flight deck. Miles noted with much apprehension how the ocean seemed to sit right there—so close to where they were walking. The flight deck itself was awash in activity, with personnel in yellow or green vests directing planes and helicopters. They passed through an area with several sailors wearing red shirts and vests. Miles noted anxiously that they were also passing through stacks of missiles and other ordinance.

When they reached the catwalk at the edge of the flight deck, Miles caught himself holding his breath. The ocean was gray and churning and he'd never seen it so close—not like this. This wasn't like standing on a beach or a pier—this was the open sea. They made their way along the metal floors of the catwalk and down several rickety stairs. He could see the ocean beneath their feet, at least seventy feet below. He kept his hands on the guide rails squeezing much harder than he had to.

Once they entered the small heavy hatch that served as the door into the ship, the line of people followed along a narrow corridor and into a small waiting area with the letters ATO stenciled on the metal hatch. Miles looked around nervously—he was going to get lost in this giant can—already the size of it was overwhelming.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles was relieved to hear his name without having to wait too long. He pulled off the cranial and shook the Chief's hand.

"MAC Gumshoe," the big Chief said, "Your sponsor couldn't make it, since we're in the same department, I thought I could at least get you out of ATO."

"I'm grateful Chief," Miles said. He had to take off his bag to remove the life preserver. The cranial and the vest were handed back to the Air Crewman and Miles picked up his seabag.

"I'll take that for you, sir," Gumshoe said and grabbed it away from Miles before he could answer. Chief led him out of the ATO space and back into the corridor. Miles saw most of the others he'd flown in with waiting in the passageway. Kay was among them, sitting on her own seabag. She frowned slightly at him as he passed.

They exited through another hatch into a wider longer corridor filled with people. There were several rooms off of the corridor, most of them decorated with command symbols for varying squadrons of varying platforms.

"Make a hole!"

The shout came from up ahead and Gumshoe and the other personnel in the passage moved close against the wall. Except for Miles, who was thoroughly confused. He barely had time to register the sudden change in momentum when several men in green flight suits carrying backpacks or helmet bags pushed through the corridor heading in the direction from which Miles and Gumshoe had just come. The third guy in the group slammed right into Miles.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" The guy said, but he had a hand on Miles' arm to steady him. Miles was startled, but he had a good look at the uniform and was dismayed to see it was a pilot. Miles was still staring at the gold wings etched into the leather patch on the left side of his flight suit—the name underneath read: LT. Wright.

The pilot shoved Miles into the bulkhead, "Chief, is this your guy?"

Gumshoe glared at him, "Yes, sir."

Wright met Miles' eye for a moment and the arrogant expression on his face softened fleetingly. Miles blinked and Wright looked at Gumshoe again.

"You need to teach him what 'Make a hole' means," Wright turned to follow the other pilots, "and tell him to put on a uniform—this ain't a cruise ship."

Miles stared after the pilot, watching his garishly spiked hair disappear among the crowd. That was him. He'd been onboard less than ten minutes and he'd already run into—didn't he recognize me? Miles was frowning at the now vacant corridor and jerked in surprise when Gumshoe grabbed his arm, "we're almost out of here."

They continued forward—well, Miles had no idea what direction they were headed—until they reached the end of the corridor and Gumshoe opened a hatch to the right and they entered into a gloriously empty passage. Miles leaned against the bulkhead and rubbed his face while Gumshoe secured the hatch.

"Come on," Chief said, "Most of the Staff work down here. I'm taking you to admin, you can do some check in with the division. Your sponsor is coming to get you from there when she's done with whatever she got caught up in."

"Okay," Miles said.

"Are you hungry?" Gumshoe paused and met his eye. He had a very friendly face.

"Um," Miles said—he hadn't eaten since before the rotator landed in Naples—but the COD; the noise; the encounter with that pilot… It kind of left him reeling.

"Tell you what, I'll get you a boxed nasty and you can eat it when you want to," Gumshoe grinned and slapped Miles on the shoulder, "Come on, no one likes it when you loiter in the P-ways."

The Staff Admin consisted of a makeshift office with three computers and a television on one wall. There were at least ten people sitting around. A couple of them looked up when Miles entered with the Chief.

"This the new JAG," Chief told the woman sitting at the largest desk. She glanced at Miles once before digging into her desk to pull out some of the ubiquitous stream of forms required when doing anything in the Navy.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth?" the woman at the desk smiled curtly at him, "Do you have your orders?"

He took a moment to dig in his pockets before handing her a folded stack of papers.

"I can stamp it here," she said, "Just so we have an accurate time, but you still need to bring these down to ship's admin as well. Your sponsor will bring you down there today."

Miles nodded and took back his orders and then received another stack of papers from the woman.

"I need you to fill out the top two sheets, sir," she met his eye this time and smiled sweetly at him, "I'm YN1 May, if you need to find me for anything else."

Miles stared around at the others in the room; they were all enlisted. None of them seemed eager to make eye contact with him, so he turned back to the papers in front of him. He soon fell into focus filling out the forms, studying the other papers she'd handed to him. Someone knocked—or rather banged—on the hatch and then let himself in.

Miles didn't recognize the man, another Lieutenant, but the man grinned at Miles with a mischievous and wolfish grin.

"Is that Miles Edgeworth?"

"Yes..." Miles looked at him quizzically. The Lieutenant grinned again.

"I don't recall that we've ever met, Lieutenant…?"

"Lang," the guy grinned, "And we haven't, but your sponsor is my BFF—"

He laughed at his own words and Miles frowned at him.

"Well?" Lieutenant Lang said, suddenly serious, "Are you going to be done here soon? Or should I come back?"

Miles looked at YN1 before handing her the forms she'd asked him to fill out. He turned back to Lieutenant Lang, "I'm finished."

"Good," Lang put a hand on is shoulder and pulled him along, "Come on, I really need to get you to your rack so you can put on your uniform—that little bow-tie is just too…"

"What's wrong with my—"

"Just—! Don't ask too many questions and try to keep up," Lang said.

He turned down another corridor and opened the hatch to reveal a ladder well going down several levels. Lang gave him a dark look and grinned at Miles before taking the ladder in front of them. He grabbed the rails and lifted his legs so he could slide using only his hands. Miles' eyes widened in surprise and he started to follow the man as best he could. They weren't really stairs—they looked like stairs—but they were steep and the steps narrow.

Lang was obviously much practiced and very comfortable with these ladders. Miles managed to keep up reasonably well for three levels, at the fourth level down he slipped and fell backward tumbling down the rest of the way on his seabag. He knocked his elbows and knees as he went and he was certain he was going to have bruises from this. Lang only paused a moment and laughed at him.

When they arrived in berthing, Miles was relieved to find the corridor wide and clean. The officers living in each stateroom had their names on the doors. The heads were labeled "male" and "females only". Miles wondered if that implied women could use the male heads as well.

Lang stopped at one of the stateroom doors. Miles felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up when he saw his name written as LT. EDGEWORTH/JAG right underneath LT. LANG/OEM DIVO. Lang opened the room and pulled Miles inside.

"What do you think?" He spread his arms and grinned at Miles. There were two racks stacked one on top of the other and a few locker spaces and desk built into yet more storage. Based on a few small photos taped to the wall, Lang had already claimed the bottom rack. Miles frowned at the pipes and lagging above the top rack.

"We're going to share a stateroom?"

"You are not special," Lang glared at him, "You don't get your own room."

Miles frowned at him and set down his bag. He knelt beside it to dig for his uniform, and pulled one set out secured in a packing cube and then dug out his boots. Lang was watching him intently.

"Wow," Lang said, "You're the only person I've ever met that managed to organize a seabag."

Miles pulled out another cube full of blue tee shirts and got out one neatly rolled shirt. He put whatever he didn't need back in his bag and then picked up his bundled uniform items.

"I don't suppose I might shower first?"

"What? We don't have time—you can do that later," Lang said.

Miles frowned, "Fine."

He started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. Lang was staring at him nonchalant in the small space of their room. Miles paused.

"Um," he said, "Would you be so kind?"

Lang shrugged at him.

"Please step out so I—"

"Really?" Lang grinned at him, "Are you embarrassed, pretty boy? Or just shy?"

"I'm—"

"Just hurry up and stop stalling," Lang turned to the wall at least, "You should be used to this by now."

"Um no," Miles said, "I wasn't aware that I'd left civilization."

"Really Edgeworth? How on earth did you survive the Academy?"

"I didn't go to the Academy."

"OCS?"

"I was a Direct Appointment. I only went to ODS."

Lang sniggered, "That explains so much—do yourself a favor and keep that on the hush hush."

Miles did his best to dress quickly glancing toward Lang every now and again to make sure he was still looking away.

"Well," Lang said, "Lawyer Boy, how long were you practicing before you decided to 'Go Navy'?"

"Long enough," Miles bent to put on his boots and lace them up, "I'm not sure how I feel about prescribed haircuts, but I know my way around the courtroom."

Lang laughed aloud and looked at Miles, "And you're cocky about it… I think we'll get along just fine, Lawyer Boy."

Miles finished blousing his pants and then stood grabbing his blouse off of his rack. Lang looked him up and down and grinned.

"You almost look like the real thing," He laughed.

Miles smirked at him, "Almost?"

"Come on," Lang said and opened the door, "I'll take you to the mess—you look like you need a sandwich."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Miles followed Lang into the p-way and they turned toward the Wardroom Mess.

Lang just laughed at him.

"I can't help it if this Aquaflage is unflattering," Miles said as he slid on his blouse and buttoned it.

Lang led him back to the ladder well, this time running up the ladders. Miles must've hit his shin on every other step and his knee on the ones he'd missed with his shins. When they reached the O-3 level Lang paused to wait for Miles. Miles got to the top of the ladder and paused to catch his breath—his eyes watered a little from the pain of banging his legs on the metal steps.

The mess was nearly deserted as it had already been secured from lunch. Lang pushed Miles into a chair and went to the galley to bother one of the CS's working there.

Several moments later he returned with two white paper bags. He set them on the table in front of Miles and sat down.

Miles stared at him, unsure of what to do. Lang grinned and started digging into one of the paper bags. He pulled out a cellophane wrapped sandwich and a mealy little apple. Miles continued to stare. Lang paused and shoved the other bag toward him.

"Come on, eat," Lang said, "I have to get you to Cali and then I've got to get back to my shop."

Miles examined the contents of his bag with a frown and pulled out his sandwich, "You mean Lieutenant Yew?"

Lang chuckled at him, his cheek bulging with sandwich.

"She's going to love you," Lang said, "You're even better than we could've guessed from your e-mails."

Miles frowned at him and ate his lunch.

Lang took the ladders at a much more reasonable pace—either he felt sorry for Miles or he'd only rushed earlier to show off to the new guy. The Flag Admin office was located in an area set apart by blue tiling. There were curtains in some areas to prevent enlisted below E-7 from entering those passages.

The space was wide and open—rare on a ship, but it was crowded with desks, supplies, and what seemed like industrial odds and ends.

Lieutenant Calisto Yew, had been assigned as Miles' sponsor almost three months ago. They'd been corresponding via e-mail during that time, but Miles hadn't known what to expect. Evidently, she hadn't either—her stare was locked onto him so hard he started to feel like hiding.

"Miles Edgeworth," she said. It was neither a question nor a greeting. In fact, her voice was so flat Miles didn't know what to say.

Eventually he settled for, "Calisto Yew."

Lang looked from Miles to Yew and grinned, "Shi-long Lang."

Lieutenant Yew cleared her throat, "Welcome aboard Edgeworth, we are pleased to have you. You're the first JAG we've had on board since our first deployment."

Miles raised an eyebrow. Yew looked at Lang.

"I'll see you tonight?" she said.

"Yeah, I have to get going," Lang winked at Miles and left.

"So," she was still staring hard at him, "What do you think so far?"

"I don't know how I'll get all the way back to berthing," Miles said, "In fact I have no idea where I am right now."

She stared at him blankly for several long moments then she let out a funny snort. She had to cover her mouth and turn away from him slightly as she sank into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Miles stared at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant Yew?"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Hope this AU isn't too weird.**_

 _Cranial is basically a helmet—just stupid._

 _Rotator is a commercial plane, contracted by the military to move personnel and/or families where they need to go._

 _COD-Carrier Onboard Delivery_

 _Beach Det-A detachment of personnel from the Strike Group's lead ship. They make sure people that need to get on or off are able to do so—among other things._

 _P-way-Navy jargon (passageway)_

 _Boxed Nasty – Mostly for the Airwing people... When you get in and miss a meal the CS's usually have lunches packed for you. They're actually not that nasty..._

 _Aquaflage- Navy camo is blue (for now anyway)_

 _Head-Navy jargon toilet or bathroom_

 _Yes Phoenix Wright is a fighter pilot… :D_

* * *

 _Updated July 2015-Special thanks to Tarma Hartley for her help with this. It was heartbreaking for me to take this down—I actually really like this story. It just needs a lot of work._

 _Just to dispel any confusion, I know there's Phoenix Wright: Ace Fighter Pilot that kind of falls into the same category (Navy AU) but these stories are completely separate._


	2. Officer Burgers

**Chapter 2**

 **Officer Burgers**

* * *

Lieutenant Phoenix Wright swaggered through the p-way with the rest of his team as they made their way into the ready room. He was wearing his flightsuit with a bright yellow shirt underneath that seemed to flash against the olive drab of the flightsuit—that's how the squadron stood out among the others in their carrier wing.

They'd just returned from a patrol over the Levant. It had been uneventful, and therefore a success. A boring watch is a good watch. Still, the flight left him tired and withdrawn—maybe a little hypoxic too.

In the ready room, he dropped himself into one of the large leather chairs bolted to the floor in the center of the room. He ran a hand through his garishly spiked hair—yeah it pushed the limits of regulation—but this is who he was so get used to it.

His EWO, Lieutenant Butz sat beside him reading a newspaper dated from six months ago. The Growler squadron had flown with the fighters, providing surveillance support and electronic counter measures should the need arise. They were kind of the newest thing and that made them stand out. He leaned his head to one side and stared intently at the commander as he debriefed their latest mission.

"Nick, look at this, Kiyance Parker is nominated for a Golden Globe for—"

"That paper is six months old Larry," Phoenix said, as he took off his nomex gloves and played with them in his hand.

"It's news to me," Larry said, "I'm glad she's doing well while I'm out—"

"Aw come on!" Phoenix said and rolled his eyes—Larry insisted he'd been dating the actress since just before they'd left on deployment.

"She loves me, Nick," Larry said, "I'm glad she's managed to keep it together while I'm out here."

Phoenix gave Larry a sidelong stare while the Commander droned on in front of the room. Larry was smiling goofily at the paper and thoughts of his imagined paramour.

"Whatever, Nick," Larry smirked at him, "You're just jealous."

Phoenix raised his eyebrows at him in mock surprise, "Jealous of your fake girlfriend?"

Larry made a noise at him and mumbled something about true love surviving in the face of cynical lonely old men. Phoenix frowned. He wasn't old or cynical...

When they were released, Phoenix and Larry walked together to secure their things in the squadron's work center. Then they made their way toward berthing with very little to say and something of a sober mood around them.

"What time are you going to chow?" Larry asked.

Phoenix shrugged, "Late, I guess."

"Okay," Larry let him pass as they went through a hatch and dogged the heavy metal door behind them, "I guess I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow."

Phoenix only nodded in reply.

Inside their stateroom, Larry stripped off his flight suit and grabbed his toiletry kit, "I'm going to the head, Nick—you?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I was supposed to meet Armando in the hangar bay."

Larry shook his head, "I don't know why you do these things to yourself."

Phoenix slid out of his flight suit and dragged on a pair of PTU shorts. He left his VAQ tee shirt on and grabbed a towel and his water bottle. He secured the room before he left—picking up Larry's things as well. It was better to make a habit of this.

The berthing corridor was blessedly empty and Phoenix sighed as he made his way out and down toward the hanger bay. He rather felt that a nap might be in order.

Armando was his mentor—so to speak. The Commander had logged an incredible amount of flight hours in his career, flying combat missions in support of multiple operations. He flew strike—a real fighter pilot—and had seen more action than any other aviator onboard. He was practically a legend. Phoenix had met very few men he'd wanted to emulate, and Diego Armando was one of them.

The Commander was past his prime—as far as aviators go—and he was being groomed for command. He would still fly, but only to maintain his status—it was time to make room for younger guys. Just don't tell him about this out loud.

Despite the glowing respect Phoenix had for his mentor, he could always admit to some measure of apprehension when meeting him. You don't get a rep like Commander Armando without rubbing some people the wrong way. Such was the nature of these things.

In the ladder well it was relatively quiet—it must have been bingo night or something, because usually there were at least a few people around. Phoenix didn't see anyone as he made his way below decks. But as he descended from the O-2 level to O-1, he almost ran smack into a guy starting up the ladder well. Usually, members of the crew got out of his way, but this guy seemed like he didn't know what he was doing. He looked up at Phoenix and Phoenix's eyes went wide.

The eyes he was staring into were gray, the face almost forgotten, but so familiar he found himself caught in the bead of that stare. But Miles Edgeworth was also a stupidly good-looking guy—even in the unflattering blue shorts and bright yellow shirt of the PTU. Miles' shins were very bruised—for some reason Phoenix found that a little endearing.

"Excuse me," Edgeworth said and backed down, so Phoenix could finish climbing down the ladder. Without any other sign of recognition he moved past Phoenix and started up the ladder.

"Wait," Phoenix said.

Edgeworth stopped where he was but did not turn to look at him.

"It's really you," Phoenix said.

"Yes."

"What—? What are you doing here?"

Edgeworth looked up in the direction of the deck above before backing down the ladder. He glared angrily at Phoenix—was he angry? Maybe he just looked that way. Phoenix was shaking his head; he couldn't believe his eyes.

"I have orders here, if you must know," Edgeworth glared at him, "Don't bother trying to act friendly now, I saw you several weeks ago—the day I checked in. You looked right at me and walked away."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "You're in the Navy? What? How?"

"Why shouldn't I—," Edgeworth said, "It was good enough for you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah but Miles," Phoenix said, "What about law school and everything you—"

"I finished law school," Edgeworth said, "I even practiced for a few years back home."

"Then what? You just left it all and joined the Navy? What the hell?"

Edgeworth glared hard at him for several dragging moments, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Wright?"

"I didn't really have anything else going for me," Phoenix was startled at his own defensive tone, "You were going to be a lawyer..."

"I'm JAG—I'm actually the JAG for this ship."

Phoenix frowned at him, "How long have you been in the Navy?"

"Two—almost three years now," Edgeworth said, "I had to beg to come out here—I can't tell you how much I hated that nor how much I regret it now."

"I don't regret it," Phoenix said Edgeworth rolled his eyes at him.

Phoenix grinned a shy crooked grin and put a hand on each of Edgeworth's shoulders, "I can't believe it."

Edgeworth for once did not fight against him when he pulled him close in an embrace. Phoenix held him close and squeezed him—not wanting to let it stop. Hoping Edgeworth wouldn't pull away. He didn't pull away, but he didn't hug him back either.

When they separated, Edgeworth grabbed one of his forearms to hold him at bay, "I still haven't forgiven you this."

"Well, you're here now—so what's the point in—"

"I had other reasons as well," Edgeworth said, "So don't get it into your head that you've got some kind of hold on me…"

"I never thought I'd see you again," Phoenix shook his head, still in awe of seeing him. Six years hadn't changed him much—maybe he'd filled out a little and the prescribed haircut was a glaring change—but he was pretty much still the same.

"Yes, well," Edgeworth paused to hitch his shorts, "The world isn't so large as one would think."

Phoenix laughed and shook his head in awe, "Just think about it. Of all the billions of people in the Navy and all the ships on the sea, we run into each other here. On this ship!"

Edgeworth frowned at him, "There aren't billions of people in the Navy. I'd say the Navy is sitting at just over a quarter million sailors. If you narrow that down to commissioned officers it's only a few thousand people. I'd say the odds were rather good that we might bump into each other."

Phoenix grinned, "So you did join the Navy to find me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Wright."

"Okay," he cocked his head and winked, "I'm glad to see you, though."

"Yes," Edgeworth said.

They stared at each other in silence. Phoenix was lost in his stare, endless and dark in the shadows of the ladder well. He stepped forward.

"This is probably not a good idea," Edgeworth punctuated his comment with a step away from him.

It was awkward after that and they stood there, looking at each other, and then turning away from each other to look at the bulkheads. A couple of sailors passed them on the ladders on their way to the hangar bay. Edgeworth was the first to acknowledge the spell had been broken—but then he'd never been one to let things linger. When it was time to go, it was time to go.

"Goodnight, Wright," Edgeworth let go of Phoenix's arm and started back up the ladder well.

"Hey," Phoenix said, "I'm sorry—if I saw you before and didn't—"

"It doesn't matter now."

"Hey, Miles."

Edgeworth only looked at him—there was that subtle impatience in his movement now.

"Maybe we can do lunch one of these days—we're both here on this dumpster together—might as well make—"

"Don't call her a dumpster," Edgeworth said and he went up the ladder muttering about the Air Wing. Phoenix grinned. What was he doing again?

He started to follow Edgeworth up the ladder and then remembered his mentor was waiting. He couldn't stop himself grinning and his step was light and quick with a bubbling effervescence.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Oh," Phoenix ran a hand through his spiky hair, "Sorry sir, I ran into a friend—someone I hadn't seen in a very long time."

Diego glared at him and led him toward the pull up station. The seaside gym was located in a space just off of the hangar bay. One wall was open to the sea and Phoenix could see the steel sky shot with the last desperate rays of orange sun sinking into the Mediterranean. Weird how everything just suddenly seemed so awesome.

"Really?"

"Well, it's a big boat," Phoenix said, "and this is a small Navy."

"Who is it?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know him—he's a staff officer."

"Try me," Armando said. He moved aside so Phoenix could use the pull up bar—Phoenix hesitated a little—he never liked this stuff.

"Ah," Phoenix smiled dismissively, "So how have you been? I haven't seen you since… Well, since the last time I saw you."

Armando had his arms crossed and was staring hard at him, "Nothing has changed."

They were quiet for a while after that. Focused in trying to get out their reps in the barely adequate gym. The space was crowded, as facilities on the ship were very limited, and eventually they made their way out into the hangar bay to join several others running a loop in the space cleared for that purpose.

They paused for a moment before joining the group, jogging at an easy pace. Phoenix was lost, thinking about Edgeworth and home and everything he'd left behind. The Commander must have noticed his preoccupied state because he suddenly seemed determined to strike up a conversation.

"This friend of yours," Armando said in a tone that made Phoenix think he'd been thinking about it since Phoenix had mentioned it, "Is he new here?"

Phoenix shrugged, "Well—there's so many people on here… I didn't ask him when he got onboard… Why?"

"I'm curious, that's all," Armando said but he smiled a little at Phoenix.

"Who is he?"

Phoenix glanced sidelong at the Commander, "He's just someone I know, from another life."

"Someone from back home?"

"Yeah."

Phoenix was exhausted by the time he'd cleaned up and he slept well that night—in spite of night moves and the catapult going off above him during the operation. Larry was grumbling about it as he threw on his working uniform. They didn't speak as they went through their morning ritual—but then, that's usually how it went lately.

They joined the line in the mess; Larry yawning and Phoenix looking around surreptitiously for Edgeworth—but then the JAG would probably use the XO's wardroom.

"What are you up to today?" Larry asked dragging Phoenix away from his thoughts.

Phoenix shook his head, "I was going to study, we have that NATOPS test coming up. Maybe watch some movies—you?"

Larry was shaking his head, "Prima donna..."

Phoenix grinned cockily at him, "You chose your own fate, Larry."

Larry frowned, "I have to hang out in CDC today. We have training—all day."

Phoenix grinned.

"I don't get it," Larry glared at him, "All you do is fly the plane. I have to do all the work."

Phoenix poked at his breakfast while Larry droned on about Kiyance, suddenly this kind of conversation no longer sated. They finished their meals and left the mess together.

"When are we flying next?"

"I'll check the board and let you know," Phoenix said.

"Good," Larry punched him in the shoulder, "Since you're just hanging out anyway."

Phoenix laughed and they paused to go their separate ways, "I'll see you later, man."

"Yeah," Larry grumbled and headed up to the O-3 Level.

Phoenix made his way to the Hangar Bay. His maintenance crew had brought his Growler into the hangar bay at some point between his last mission and his breakfast.

"Nick!"

Petty Officer Fey had a habit of breaking protocols—though he let it slide most of the time—after all, his life was in her hands.

"Good morning," he said.

She was leaning against one of the maintenance lockers with the new girl they'd taken on—Airman Faraday. Phoenix jumped and caught the edge of the wing and pulled himself up. He put his face against the side of his plane, the paint was smooth and cold against his face. Petty Officer Fey made sure she was always clean.

"What are you all giddy about?" Petty Officer Fey asked, she shot a quick glance in Faraday's direction, "Sir?"

"What are you talking about?" Phoenix looked down at her from his vantage on the wing of his plane, "Just another day in paradise, right?"

Fey laughed at him, "Yeah, sir. Another day in paradise..."

"Living the dream?"

He thought he saw Faraday's anxious expression relax in the midst of their banter. He turned to her and held out a hand.

"I'm Lieutenant Wright," he said, "I fly this baby."

Faraday accepted his hand apprehensively, but gave it a brave shake, "Nice to meet you, sir."

"So... El Tee," Fey cut in, "Are you going to bring us lunch today?"

Phoenix gave her an exaggerated look of confusion, "Am I on the hook for lunch today?"

"Nick!" She shouted with her fists balled up and her cheeks puffed out.

Phoenix put a finger to his lips and shushed her, "You'll get us in trouble."

"Don't try and change the subject," Fey said.

"What do you guys want?"

"Duh," Petty Officer Fey said, "Burgers."

Phoenix made a face at her, "You know the burgers that they serve us are the same ones they serve in the speed line in the galleys."

"Nope," she shook her head, "We both know that officer burgers are better than enlisted burgers."

Phoenix grinned, "Now made with real officers..."

Petty Officer Fey made a face at him, hands planted on her hips.

"What do you want for lunch, Airman Faraday?" Phoenix turned away from Petty Officer Fey and smiled at the new girl.

"Ah, I don't know? Grilled cheese?"

Phoenix laughed, "Well all right, then."

"El Tee," Petty Officer Fey said, "Chief's got us running around doing ESWS, can you maybe talk to him?"

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "Talk to him about what? Isn't that stuff mandatory?"

"For the ship people," Fey said with a jerk of her head, "I already got the pin that matters."

Phoenix smiled at her, "You know I can't—chief won't listen to me."

Petty Officer Fey made a face, "We got so much to do without having to deal with that stuff too."

Phoenix offered a sympathetic smile, "Aw, you'll be all right. I'll try and ask chief to go easy on you, but I don't think he'll change his mind about ESWS. Besides, don't you want to make Second Class?"

"Yeah but," she pouted.

"I should probably let you guys get back to work," he smiled at her, "I'll see you at lunch."

Petty Officer Fey sighed, "All right, Nick—sir."

He chuckled and jumped down from the plane. He glanced back once as he walked out of the hangar bay. Both girls were discussing something while standing against the fuselage of his Growler. They were wearing the baggy blue coveralls of mechanics and had their hair rolled up high on their heads. Petty Officer Fey's hair had a few loose strands that hovered around her head. It made him smile again.

Phoenix made his way to the ship's LRC. All of the computers were in use, so he made his way to one of the shelves stacked with books. The books were lain on their sides and stack high on the shelves, partly to fit more books in the inadequate shelving and partly to prevent them from scattering if the ship hit a swell. Though it would have to be a pretty significant swell to shake up 4.5 Acres of Sovereign Territory.

He stared at the books on the shelf with a contemplative frown. Why would Edgeworth give up a lucrative career for this? Surely, he still felt something if he'd go through all of this trouble. The colorful titles on the paperback spines were starting to blur and blend together. Phoenix blinked hard.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he muttered under his breath. He wiped his eyes with a hand and glanced furtively around the space. The other sailors were wither deep in conversation or focused on their computer screens. He chuckled at himself.

(Look at you, falling apart over this.)

Phoenix picked up a history book, _The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors_ , and wiggled it out of its place on the shelf. He startled a little when the other books slid down. He glanced around one last time as he departed and made his way back toward berthing.

He considered going to the O-3 Level. Where admin was. Admin and the Legal Department. Phoenix shook his head and stared at the book in his hand. You don't want to scare him off. This is kind of complicated. Edgeworth is kind of complicated.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Phoenix the fighter pilot... Sort of**_

 _I would really appreciate Reviews good, bad, or otherwise…_

 _Thanks again for reading!_

 _Notes::_

 _Officer Ranks: LT-O3_

 _Commander-O5_

 _Airman/Seaman/Fireman E1-E3_

 _Petty Officer – E4-E6 (Maya is an E4)_

 _Chief – E7_

 _You'll see Petty Officers referred to by their rate (their job), for example:_

 _In this story Maya is an Aviation Structural Mechanic (AM) and a Petty Officer Third Class so she's sometimes referred to as AM3._

 _Gumshoe is a Master-at-Arms and a Chief Petty Officer so he'll go by MAC (em-ay-see)_

 _ESWS-Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist_

 _This is a badge sailors can wear after they gone through the training and study required to be considered on expert on their platform. The other 'Pin' Maya refers to is EAWS (Enlisted Air Warfare Specialist) since she's part of the squadron and would get that pin first._

 _LRC-Learning Resource Center – Basically the ship's library. There are computers for the crew's use. And tons of donated books—including an inordinate amount of Harlequin Romance Novels... Don't ask me why..._

 _Don't be afraid to ask for clarification if needed._


	3. Danger Zone

**Chapter 3**

 **Danger Zone**

* * *

Miles glared at the tri-folder in front of him and tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Lieutenant Yew would not stop laughing. For the life of him, Miles could not figure out what had set her off.

"So—heh—so," she said, finally able to speak again, "What about socks? What color socks can I wear in PT gear?"

Miles' brow furrowed—but he couldn't stop himself from answering, "Plain black or plain white socks that must not come up past your calf."

Yew curled forward grabbing her stomach in another fit of laughter. He closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his chair to glare at her.

"Will you stop?" he said finally. She was immediately serious.

"You are the worst bore I've ever met," she said.

Miles stood and straightened the belt on his khakis—lining up the zipper of his pants with the buttons of the shirt.

"Miles when are you going to get it into your head that no one cares what you do? You're only here so the Captain can say he has a full Legal Department. You're a figurehead at best and a seat-warmer unless told otherwise."

Miles only frowned—having prosecuted cases for municipal and state district courts, he was used to being busy. He was used to being focused and tasked and always ready and preparing for the next case—aside from about fifteen wills he'd typed up for sailors that had made it all the way out on deployment without one, he'd had no real tasking at all. And he only did those out of boredom—he had a couple of Legalman Petty Officers working for him.

Miles ran his hands through his hair, "What time is it?"

"Ten-forty," Yew said, "Are you hungry already?"

"I had breakfast at six," Miles said by way of explanation and moved to exit the small space, "I'll see you this afternoon."

"Where are you going? Shi isn't here yet," she said.

"I forgot to tell you, I was going to see someone else."

"Miles! Have you been fraternizing with the crew?"

He gave her a dark look in reply, "Good day."

"Wait," Lieutenant Yew stood, "Who are you going to see?"

Miles shrugged, "Somebody that I… Know from Virginia…"

"Somebody? Not him or her? Miles you know the rules," she chuckled at that and he grimaced at her.

"Well if you must know, I've run into an old friend. He's attached to the Air Wing. He asked if I might make time to have lunch and perhaps converse with him—since he isn't flying today."

"You're fraternizing with the squatters? Come on," she cocked her head at him and crossed her arms, "Miles who is it?"

"He's a pilot," Miles almost smiled, "Just an old friend from home."

"Miles you shouldn't hang out with nasty aviators," Yew said.

"It can hardly be worse than the likes of you," Miles smirked.

She started to laugh again, "You are… just… too… funny…"

Miles frowned again—he wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with this—and they were in the middle of the ocean; surrounded by hundreds of miles of water. He opened the hatch and left her without another chance at stalling.

Miles went quickly down two decks , over toward port, up three decks, forward and entered the lounge where a few other officers—mostly Air Wing with their dirty flight suits or rumpled khakis—were awaiting meal call. Miles checked his watch—he was still a few minutes early.

"Psst," Phoenix hissed into his ear and the sound as well as the tickle Phoenix's cool breath against his neck made him jump.

"Hello," Miles said.

Phoenix had a paperback book he'd been reading in one hand and was now shoving it into one of the cargo pockets near his knee.

"You look cute in khaki," Phoenix said. Miles gave him a dark glare, warning him.

They sat together on one of the benches, and as lunchtime neared the lounge became full and started to overflow. Many of the junior officers waiting started to line up.

"Are you really hungry?" Phoenix said looking at the line with concern.

"I'm famished," Miles stood to join the line. Phoenix followed him reluctantly.

"We could come back later," he said, "In about an hour or so—when it dies down."

Miles looked longingly toward the head of the line, "When it starts moving, it'll go pretty fast."

"No," Phoenix said, "We'll come back later. I want to show you something—while everyone is in the lunch line."

He grinned his wide disarming grin, and Miles found himself torn between the gnawing feeling in his guts or the sudden desire to see whatever it was Phoenix wanted to show him.

Phoenix didn't wait for him to answer, but grabbed Miles' elbow and pulled him out of the line. They shoved through the mass of bodies in the corridor and Phoenix opened a small hatch in the floor hidden by a nook in the passage. Miles looked down into it and shuddered. It was a ladder made up of ribbed metal rungs punched into what amounted to a steel tube leading God knows where into the belly of the ship.

"Come on," Phoenix had already climbed inside so that only his spiky head was sticking out, "It's perfectly safe."

Miles frowned—quite frankly, nothing on this vessel was 'perfectly safe' if the crew survived the deployment it would be a successful operation—never mind everything they were expected to do. Somehow while his mind contemplated the dangers associated with the trunk and climbing around in it—Phoenix had coaxed him into climbing down far enough to close the hatch.

"You need to close that hatch," Phoenix said.

"What?" Miles looked up at the heavy solid metal dome with the spinning handle in the center. There's no way.

"Just pull it down and twist—"

"That thing looks like it weighs a ton," Miles said.

"If you put both hands on that handle and pull, I promise nothing of yours will get squished."

Miles looked up at it again, if he grabbed that handle, he'd have to let go of the ladder with his hands.

"I'm right here," Phoenix said, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Phoenix never lost his patience either while Miles warred with his unease at doing anything on the ship that seemed even remotely technical—he was a lawyer—not a sailor. Nobody expected very much more from him.

When he'd done it, he felt giddy, this was suddenly so real. Phoenix led him down what seemed like a long way in the confining trunk. They exited on the main deck where the enlisted galleys were even more crowded and chaotic than the one they just left.

With little pause, Phoenix led him a ways aft before they exited the main deck and started up another ladder well. A few enlisted sailors ducked out of their way as they passed.

Miles was surprised when they exited into the hangar bay again. In the daylight, the hangar was bright and there was little activity as flight operations were being conducted above. Miles jumped when the catapult shot some poor soul into the sky above the open ocean. The whoosh and bang of it seemed to echo more loudly in the open space of the hangar than it did from above their heads in the berthing.

Phoenix tapped him and entered another room with a ladder well. This ladder was wide, accommodating several people—perfect—since there was a tight crowd in the ladder well.

"What's going on?" Miles yelled up at Phoenix—he'd never seen this before.

"Nothing," Phoenix said, "the smoking lamp is on—that goes to the enlisted smoke pit."

Oh. It was all he could do to keep up with Phoenix as he plowed through the crowd. It was starting to get hot with the open bays and the press of bodies. Miles was relieved when they exited the ladder well and entered into a wide cool corridor.

"This is familiar," Miles said.

"We're back on the O-3 level," Phoenix said, "Come on. You'll love this—trust me."

Phoenix led him further aft past CVIC and into the blue-tile area. Miles ducked his head—hoping no one from his work center would bump into him. They pushed through a blue curtain into the squadron spaces and eventually Miles was startled to see the door marked ATO. His first introduction to the carrier.

After a few more turns they were in the blue tile again. Phoenix started up another ladder and Miles followed; already thoroughly confused and intimidated by the labyrinth of the ship.

They continued up and up, and at one point, Phoenix had to stop so that both of them could catch their breath. Finally they exited into a narrow corridor where several enlisted Airmen were lounging. Phoenix took him into one of the rooms and Miles was surprised and almost blinded by the sunlight.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sky. While he took a moment to get his bearings, Phoenix went to talk to one of the Airmen who gave him a couple of sets of hearing and eye protection and a couple of boxes of foam ear plugs.

Phoenix grinned at him while they put on their ear protection. Miles was suddenly wrapped in the comforting sound of waves and his own beating heart. Phoenix was holding him by the elbow, as there was no more conversation. They went up a final ladder and onto a narrow platform on the side of the carrier's tower.

Miles eyes went wide. From here they could view in full glory the take off and landing of the fighters flying that day. Every bang of the catapult could be felt deep in his chest and the roar of the planes filled every space of sound. Miles looked at Phoenix and Phoenix smiled at him—Miles must have shouted—but it was drowned in the roaring. Miles leaned forward to watch other parts of the operations—fueling, ordinance, the deck was like an intricate play requiring perfect timing and rhythm.

Miles had his elbows on the railing and it took him a while to notice, but Phoenix had a hand on his hip. Miles pulled away from him suddenly and they stared at each other—it was startling, as they both had on large headphones and goggles. Miles must've frowned—or else Phoenix was still so intricately tuned to his wavelength that he could almost read his mind. Miles tried not to think about it like that as he followed Phoenix back inside and they spiraled their way slowly back down into the belly of the ship.

Neither of them said a word as they walked down the eerily quiet passages in the forward parts of the O-3 level. For a moment Miles had the feeling that this great monstrosity had been abandoned and they were there alone with each other.

"What did you think?" Phoenix said. He was never able to enjoy silence for very long. Miles looked at him, torn between the sudden dredging up of old feelings; the excitement of seeing the planes take off and land; the exploring of the enormous ship… In just over an hour, Phoenix had shown him more about this world than Officer Development School and his one-month aboard had.

"It was very grand," Miles couldn't stifle his smile; he was feeling a little giddy, "I'd never... Well, I didn't think I'd ever see that."

"Kind of like Top Gun, you know, but for real."

"What's Top Gun?"

Phoenix laughed his disarming laugh and motioned him to follow, "Come on, we can't be caught loitering around here."

Phoenix led him up another ladder and into another corridor and Miles realized that they'd arrived in a berthing. The passage was deserted, quiet and Phoenix took his hand boldly as they walked. No Miles thought. You can't just pick up where you left off not after what happened. One little adventure on this hull wasn't going to make that go away.

Phoenix dropped his hand suddenly, "Good afternoon, Commander."

The man nodded at them and passed without a second glance. Phoenix grinned at him and stopped in front of a stateroom door.

It was decorated with squadron stickers. The sign on the door said LT PHOENIX 'SICK BURN' WRIGHT and LT LARRY 'STINKY' BUTZ. Phoenix opened the door and pulled Miles inside.

"Larry's got some training to do for most of the day. He's my EWO," Phoenix said; there was a nervous tension in his voice. Miles had no idea what an EWO was nor did he care to ask.

"So he's going to be down in CDC with those guys—I think," Phoenix said.

Miles sucked in his bottom lip and let it back out slowly—holding it with his teeth. He could feel the other man watching him. After so many years, it was like they'd never been apart.

Phoenix grabbed his face and pressed his mouth to his mouth. One hand cradled Miles' jaw and the other slid around to the back of his head. Miles could feel him pulling his hair.

Miles closed his eyes and pushed back against him, thrusting his tongue into that mouth, searching, tasting him. The sounds of their breathing filled the space around them as completely as the roar of jet engines filled the sky not very long ago. Miles' found his hands grabbing at the collar of Phoenix's NWU blouse sliding up to hold his head against his own.

It felt like forever, but it was over much too soon. Phoenix was staring at him, his dark eyes hungry, his mouth still parted, and his breathing labored from their kiss.

"I..." Miles began to say, but Phoenix shook his head and kissed him again.

Phoenix let go of Miles' face and his hands started frantically undoing the buttons of his blouse. Phoenix was greedy, refusing to break their kiss while he shook his arms out of his sleeves. Miles finally pulled away—he gasped for breath his nose pointed at the crook of Phoenix's neck—his hands on the buckle of his own belt.

Phoenix didn't wait for him and pulled the Khaki shirt up until he accidentally hit Miles in the face.

"Let me," Miles said and backed off to unbutton his shirt. Phoenix undid his belt and the button holding his pants up. Then he took up the bottom of his blue tee shirt and pulled it up over his head.

Miles paused and swallowed watching him—Phoenix had always been slim, but the rigors of his new lifestyle had left him with hard muscle and a chiseled physique. Miles' couldn't help thinking that maybe this Navy gig wasn't such a bad thing for Phoenix after all. Phoenix surprised him then and lifted him bodily up off of the floor and laid him on the bottom rack.

It was too narrow to sit up comfortably in and Miles managed to bang himself on the head twice before Phoenix put a hand on his chest and told him to lie back.

"You still like me," Phoenix said. Miles, in his very compromised position, was in no fit state to argue with him.

Phoenix unzipped his khaki trousers and slid them off, tossing them God knows where as he climbed into the rack on top of him. There was very little room to maneuver, and Miles was uncomfortably attuned to the strangling confines of the space. But Phoenix didn't seem to notice. Miles had a hand on each of his muscular shoulders and he put his head back to break away from Phoenix's passionate kissing.

Phoenix was not deterred and pressed in on him, kissing his neck and following it down along his collarbone. He could feel his breath against the skin of his chest, his hands digging into the flesh of his thigh.

"Nick..."

"Hey, shhh..."

Phoenix continued moving downward. Leaving soft lingering kisses down his belly. Miles felt his breath catch in his throat. He seemed to lose power in his arms and stopped pushing the other man away.

"We—we shouldn't," he said breathlessly.

He felt Phoenix pause, "Just trust me."

Miles sat up and banged his head against the rack above, "Oww!"

"Hey—what?"

They locked eyes for several prolonged moments. Miles swallowed, disappointment was plain in Phoenix's dark-blue eyes. He backed off and turned his head away. Miles studied his profile. Don't be upset, please.

"It's just that..." Miles began but he lost the words.

Phoenix picked up his shirt and then grinned at him, shaking his head, "No, I get it..."

Miles lay back on the rack suddenly aware that he was almost naked, "It's not..."

"No," Phoenix slipped the blue shirt over his head and tugged it down with more force than was necessary, "I do get it, Miles. You're still pissed about—"

"No," Miles said, "I mean, I am. But that has nothing to do with—"

"Just stop," Phoenix turned his back to him he shook his hands in the air in exasperation.

Miles slid out of the rack and looked around for his pants keeping an eye surreptitiously on Phoenix. Was he angry? He seemed angry.

"Wrigh—Nick..."

Phoenix still had his back to him. He was buckling the belt on his NWUs. He ran a hand through his spikes and then sat on the deck to put on his boots.

"Look, it's been six years..." Miles said, "You didn't expect us to just pick up where we left off with no regard for the last six years?"

"Are you married or something?" Phoenix muttered with no small hint of resentment.

Miles lost his train of thought and almost laughed, "Er... No. Nothing like that."

"Then what?" The silence filled the space between them. Phoenix was frowning and Miles caught himself thinking that he didn't like that look on him. And he was responsible for that look.

Miles shook his head and looked at the deck, "I don't know. When you left you just... I don't know."

"I was a kid," Phoenix said, "I made some life changing decisions... That's about the size of it."

Miles shook his head, "If it were really so simple, why didn't you discuss it with me?"

"You're right," Phoenix stood up and hitched his belt, "This was a mistake."

Miles frowned. He distracted himself with buttoning his shirt glancing once or twice at Phoenix but seeing no change in his expression.

Phoenix stood still and gazed blankly at the bulkhead. Miles continued working on his shirt his fingers trembled slightly and he found he had to go back and redo his buttons a few times. He stared at the back of Phoenix's head and tried to come up with something to say. Phoenix turned around.

"I don't want to fight with you," Phoenix said sullenly and he put his hands on his hips, "We could... I don't know, we could start by being friends, I guess. See where that goes."

Miles managed to smile at him, however subtle and tight-lipped it may have come off, "Yes. I can do that."

Phoenix smiled in that open and unguarded way he had. That was much better. He'd always had a charming smile.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Hahahahahaaha! This story is a guilty pleasure.**_

 _Try playing the Top Gun theme while reading this chapter… (just a suggestion)_

 _Please review… Pretty please?_

 _You can't do that in enlisted racks-lol._

 _NWU-Navy Working Uniform (our schnazzy blue camouflage)_

 _July 2015 – Thanks to Tarma Hartley for help with this. I really want to make this work and she has been invaluable as far as advice and criticisms. Thank you thank you!_


	4. Through the Hour Glass

**Chapter 4**

 **Through the Hour Glass**

* * *

Edgeworth chickened out in the end—Phoenix half expected it. In fact he was surprised he managed to get Edgeworth to follow him all the way up to the O-13 level to watch flight ops with him. Phoenix watched in disappointment as Edgeworth put his Khakis back on. He'd pulled his NWU pants back on, but stopped to brood in disappointment while Edgeworth buttoned his stupid shirt.

Phoenix crossed his arms and stared at Edgeworth's face, hoping those eyes would come up and meet his. But the other man seemed very intent on getting properly dressed. Edgeworth was still scarred—in the end those walls he built to protect himself are what drove Phoenix to run off and 'join the circus' as Edgeworth had so aptly described it. They were still there.

So why follow me? Phoenix watched Edgeworth cinch his belt and then check that the gold-finished brass-buckle was in line with his shirt and pants.

"You look skinny," Phoenix said.

Edgeworth looked up at him for only a moment before turning his attention back to his uniform, "The food here is terrible. If I don't just fall down some hole somewhere or get smashed in something or electrocuted or irradiated to death or blown off this boat—I just may starve."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow and laughed at him, "It's not so bad."

"Says mister rock star fighter pilot," Edgeworth said.

"Aw, are they working you too hard in the legal department?"

"Hardly," Edgeworth slid his hands into his pockets, "But I still get turned around on here and I can't ever seem to get to the mess on time. If they didn't have midrats..."

Phoenix doubled over in laughter, "Oh man. You poor thing! Didn't they assign you a sponsor?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why aren't they helping you out? They're supposed to show you around."

"She... She did," Miles frowned, "But all of these passages look the same."

"Wow, you need help," Phoenix was still grinning at him. Not only did Edgeworth seem very perturbed by his situation, but his ears had reddened and his brow furrowed.

"Don't get upset," Phoenix said, "I could probably show you around. I don't fly every day. So I can usually find some free time."

Edgeworth glared, "During the work day?"

"I'm sure you can take some time away from kicking out fat kids and recording masts to learn the ship."

"But we agreed to—"

"Yes, we did," Phoenix crossed his arms, "But you said we ought to try and be friends too."

"Yes, very well.

"Do you want to see my plane?"

Edgeworth shot him an offended look. Phoenix paused for a moment and then laughed, "Yeah... Wow... Sorry, I meant my actual plane, the one that I fly."

"I suppose that would be interesting; but I probably can't today."

"You'll love it! I mean, she's basically a modified Hornet—just like the ones—"

"Don't start talking to me about airplanes," Edgeworth said and crossed his arms, "I'm still getting used to the ship stuff."

"Okay, sorry," Phoenix grinned.

"Do you really have nothing to do today?"

"We got to keep up with PMS, and the maintainers do that," Phoenix said, "So yeah. I'm just hanging out today."

"Do you want to sit in my work space? That way we might—"

"No way," Phoenix said, "What are you up to anyway? We could just stay here and… you know… catch up."

Edgeworth was studying the pictures he and Larry had taped to the wall, "I don't know."

"No," Phoenix said, "You're right. It's too soon..."

"No, I just—"

"What?" Phoenix found himself close to him again. Lost in that stormy gray stare, "Miles..."

"Why didn't you ever come home?"

Really? You have to do this now? Phoenix shook his head and looked away, "I don't know. Things have been going so fast—I guess I never found the time."

Edgeworth was frowning at him, those gray eyes looked so profoundly sad.

"Nothing personal..."

"It certainly seemed personal," Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair, "You never once called or wrote..."

"I was busy," Phoenix tugged at his own spikes he had to look away from that face, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you needed the distraction..."

"You could've at least called," Edgeworth said, "I find it highly unlikely that you of all people were so focused on your work that you couldn't once call home."

Phoenix smiled, "I guess I was trying to outdo you—in my own way."

"Everyone missed you, Nick," Edgeworth put his head down, "That whole town was sad you left. You were loved."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "Well there was one I couldn't really get a straight answer from..."

"So it was my fault?"

Phoenix startled and turned to look at him, "I didn't—"

Edgeworth faced the wall again and Phoenix could see the sinew in his cheek jerk as he clenched his jaw.

They'd been friends since they were kids—since before they could remember. Their shared childhoods seemed richer for their companionship. Then Edgeworth's father was murdered—it happened at the courthouse, under mysterious circumstances. They were both nine.

Edgeworth had gone to a home for a few months—first an orphanage then a foster home nearby. It seemed that they could still be friends—they'd be okay. Then Edgeworth was swept off to Germany with some guy that Edgeworth's dad used to work with—or something. He was gone for ten years.

Phoenix had all but forgotten him. Especially since he'd been forced to survive the jungle of Junior High and High School all on his own. Phoenix knew it wasn't Edgeworth's choice, or his fault—but it was easy to slide into resentment all the same.

The next time they saw each other was at University. Edgeworth was nothing like Phoenix remembered. He seemed broken almost. It took Phoenix the better part of a year to get Edgeworth to climb out of his shell enough to be a friend. Even that always seemed tentative, though. Edgeworth had a lot of issues to work through.

One thing they had in common was the Law. Phoenix started studying law and criminal justice to be in the same classes as Edgeworth. Somehow, Edgeworth had him sold on the idea that being a lawyer was the most logical course of action for Phoenix as well.

In the last couple years of University, Phoenix realized that he never felt as much for his girlfriends as he did for Edgeworth. As their friendship became increasingly romantic—Phoenix began to feel desperate. Edgeworth was not a very physical person—Phoenix needed to be touched.

They were young; emotions ran hotter than they were ready to deal with—and ultimately Phoenix ran away. He ran away and chose the most far off path he could think of—he'd decided to be an astronaut. But so far, he'd only been allowed to fly jets.

Phoenix thumbed through the paperback he'd retrieved from his cargo pocket. Edgeworth was still studying the photos.

"Who's this guy?"

Phoenix craned his neck to see what Edgeworth was pointing at, "That's Larry Butz—I met him at OCS. Then I went Aviator and he went NFO and we went our separate ways until fate put us in the same squadron."

Edgeworth was staring at Larry with his brow furrowed—more so than it had been—Phoenix smiled.

"He's just a friend," Phoenix said, "And only out of necessity."

"And her?"

"That's Dahlia—we… It didn't last long."

"But you kept her picture?"

Phoenix glared at Edgeworth and stuck his nose back in his book, "Why does it matter to you?"

Edgeworth shook his head at the wall, "It's been six years. I'm just trying to make sense of it."

"I don't see why you can't just let it go," Phoenix said—maybe with more open resentment than he'd intended.

"There's this," Edgeworth looked at him directly, "I'm not really sure who you are anymore. You have a life so far removed from what you left behind. New friends, new... Relationships... You picked the most foolish, daredevil—"

"I'm good at this," Phoenix said, "Just like you're good at—lawyering… No one can lawyer like you."

Edgeworth frowned and crossed his arms. Phoenix glared blankly at his book. We shouldn't go here, not now. It's too soon. Too much too soon.

"Do you want to eat?" Phoenix said, "Before you starve or whatever?"

Edgeworth put his head down and dropped his arms at his sides. Slowly he took his left elbow with his right hand—an anxious gesture he'd kept since childhood. He gave a very pained expression to the wall, but Phoenix could see it in his profile.

"I did do this because of you," Edgeworth said, "I thought—maybe someday we might cross paths—I never guessed you'd be on my first ship. Now—now I'm starting to feel that I'm not quite ready. I don't really feel like I can do this. It's not just a job here-it's a whole lifestyle. I'm trying my best to learn this and then... You... I didn't expect things to happen so soon. I'm not trying to push you away, Nick, please know that."

Phoenix stood and put on his blouse buttoning it slowly, "It's fine, Miles. Don't worry about it."

"You're disappointed."

Phoenix opened the stateroom door with one hand and put the other on Edgeworth's shoulder; he grinned, "I can't help that—you gorgeous thing you. But whatever. I've waited this long—I can be patient for a little longer."

"Thank you."

"I said a _little_ longer."

Phoenix was right—of course. The mess was nearly deserted. He watched Edgeworth ask for double the entrée—which was some semblance of tetrazzini with an unknown protein—I guess a couple weeks with not enough to eat will make even the most finicky person less discriminating. They sat down in a corner underneath the television. Edgeworth didn't speak—he really was hungry—Phoenix stared at him for a while before attending to his own meal.

Phoenix was just finishing up when Larry joined them at their table, choosing a seat beside Phoenix. Edgeworth looked slightly offended.

"Dude," Larry said, "These guys just wouldn't quit. Where's the hot sauce?"

Phoenix put his fork down and stared at Larry.

"How come you're sitting under the TV—you can't see what's going on," and then he looked at Edgeworth, "Oh, hey. Who are you?"

"I'm Miles Edgeworth."

"Oh," Larry paused and then leaned in closer to Phoenix, "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Phoenix smiled, "He's a frie—the new JAG."

"JAG…?" Larry squinted at Edgeworth, "Oh yeah! How are you man? My name is Larry—Larry Butz—nice to meet you."

Edgeworth shook his hand and nodded in reply to Larry's greetings—if he'd meant to be rude, Larry didn't seem to notice.

Edgeworth looked at Phoenix with those striking gray eyes and Phoenix offered a raised eyebrow in reply. Edgeworth moved those irises in Larry's direction for a moment before fixing them back on Phoenix. Phoenix gave the merest hint of a shrug and smiled.

"So Larry," Phoenix said, "Are you done for the day?"

"No," Larry swallowed a mouthful of whatever they were eating, mystery meat casserole, "I have to go back. I'll probably be there until dinner time."

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a pointed look. The other man closed his eyes and gave his head a very subtle shake. Phoenix frowned slightly.

He decided it was only right to show Edgeworth how to get back to the Admin spaces he worked at. He didn't linger to chat and Edgeworth made no effort to keep him. Phoenix frowned as he headed back toward the mess. Hoping against hope that he hadn't already screwed this up. Edgeworth could be so hard to read sometimes.

He entered the hangar bay with two Styrofoam food boxes. The maintenance space was crowded. He saw Petty Officer Fey talking to a tall burly chief. He frowned.

"Chief," he greeted when he was in earshot.

"Oh hi Mister Wright," Chief said, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I promised my maintainers lunch," Phoenix looked around sheepishly, "But there were only two of them when I came by earlier."

Chief wiggled giddily, "Ooh what did you bring?"

"Just some stuff from the grill line," Phoenix turned the boxes in his hands, "You know burgers, fries... Chief what are you doing here? Is something wrong with my—"

"No, no, sir," Chief said with a toss of his head, "we just finished quarters and I was just telling Petty Officer Fey here that she needs to start pushing herself if she's going to make second class. ESWS, JSA, CSADD... She needs to get involved if she wants to stand out—am I right, El Tee?"

Phoenix shot a sympathetic look in Fey's direction, "Give her a break Chief, this is a tough deployment."

Chief waggled his head at him, "Good thing you're not in her Chain of Command, sir."

Phoenix glared at the Chief. Come, on!

"All due respect, sir," Chief said waving a finger at him and grinning broadly. He was such a creep.

Phoenix turned without another word and passed the meal boxes to Fey and then nodded before departing. He glanced back once on his way out and then shook his head. If he could, he'd get her a new Chief. That guy... ugh!

He was headed back to berthing, rolling over the day's events in his head when someone jumped him from behind. Phoenix almost fell over.

"Boogity boogity boo!"

Phoenix rammed him into the bulkhead, "OW!"

"Doug?" Phoenix was surprised when he rounded on the man.

Doug started laughing, "Wow, you are so... jumpy..."

"You're an idiot if you think it's okay to run around grab-assing in the p-ways!"

Doug held up his hands, "Sorry, Nick. I was just trying to scare you—just for fun. I didn't mean anything by it."

Phoenix held out a hand to help him up, "I take it you're not flying today either."

"Nah," Doug said, "And I'm starting to go a little stir crazy. What are you up to?"

"The same," Phoenix crossed his arms, "Just trying to kill a few more hours so I can go to bed."

"There's karaoke tonight in the forward mess," Doug perked up suddenly, "Weren't you coming to that?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I don't man, I don't really fee—"

"Aw you have to! We got challenged by that asshole Lang down in CIWS."

"Yeah, you guys are going to have to manage on your own," Phoenix started to pull away from him.

"But we were going to do 'You've Lost that Loving Feel—"

"Doug," Phoenix put his hands on his hips and gave him a hard look, "If you're going to beats those OPS clowns, you have to do something new. You can't live in this make-believe world where you re-enact Top Gun over and over again."

"So what do you think we should do?"

"We aren't doing anything," Phoenix turned to leave, "Because I'm not going."

"Hey, is everything okay, bro?"

Phoenix paused, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, that's why I asked," Doug frowned, "You seem a little touchy today."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I just got assaulted in the p-way by you," Phoenix glared at him.

"I said I was sorry," Doug put his head down and slid his boot along the floor in front of him. Oh, come on!

"Don't do that," Phoenix said, "Let me see how Larry's feeling tonight. If he's going I'll go with him."

Doug grinned, "I'll see you tonight, brother."

Phoenix gave him a noncommittal shrug and continued on his way. By the time he entered the berthing corridor traffic had picked up in the passageways. He nodded at a few of the other officers he knew but stayed focused on his destination and avoided conversation.

Larry wasn't in the stateroom when he entered. He frowned at the empty room and then pulled the chair out from where it had been secured under the desk and sat down to take off his boots. His head was swimming with thoughts of Edgeworth while he unlaced his boots; he'd been congenial enough when they parted earlier, but then... Edgeworth wouldn't say anything if he was upset about their... encounter... And that's the problem. That's what he couldn't deal with.

Edgeworth had berated him for not calling or writing, but he hadn't done that either. Well, you joined the Navy—no one had any idea where you were. Phoenix sighed guiltily and pulled off his left boot and let it drop to the floor. He hadn't really made it easy for anyone to track him down. But then, wasn't that the whole point? To get away?

He pulled off his right boot and watched it drop to the floor—and that's when he saw it. A small rectangle of red with a small stripe of yellow and blue in the center. The cloth was wrapped around a metal frame—the National Defense Medal. Well it was the ribbon that represented the Medal.

Phoenix frowned, it must've fallen off of his shirt when they... You should go bring it to him. Yeah, but then I have to put my boots back on...

Phoenix closed his fist around the ribbon and then put it in his pocket. Leave Edgeworth alone for now or you'll scare him off.

He stood and picked up his boots to secure them and then shoved the chair back under the desk. He climbed wearily into his rack and pulled his book out of his pocket and returned to the Battle off Samar. They weren't that far into this deployment. There was time. Patience is a virtue, right?

But patience was so difficult sometimes.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Grrrrr…. The slow but necessary exposition. In order to get this story to work, some of the history has to change too.**_

 _OCS-Officer Candidate School. For those that didn't get their degree at the Naval Academy._

 _NFO-Naval Flight Officer. Larry isn't a pilot._

 _PMS-Planned Maintenance System (part of 3M). Makes sure stuff gets checked on a schedule to catch maintenance problems before they become problems (isn't our Navy Efficient?)_

 _Unknown protein = mystery meat_

 _Can anyone guess who that Chief is?_

 _OPS- Operations Department-they do pretty much everything related to weapons, mission, radars all of that fun stuff_

 _CIWS-Close In Weapons System (Lang's division)_

 _Phoenix and Miles have an eyeball conversation… LOL_


	5. The Lonely Orchestra

**Chapter 5**

 **The Lonely Orchestra**

* * *

Miles must have had a bounce in his step or a gleam in his eye or a scent of infatuation about him—because Lang caught on immediately—and thought it would be fun to poke fun at Miles.

"You are going to tell me," Lang said, "Because while I'm trapped in the belly of this great whale, all I have to keep me going are the stories. The stories Miles!"

Miles didn't bother asking about the stories. One because he didn't care. Two because, whether or not he cared, Lang was going to tell him anyway.

"Lieutenant Lang!"

"Hang on," Lang stood from the table where they were eating dinner and went to see who was calling for him—probably one of his sailors—they were always looking for him.

Miles didn't wait for Lang, but continued eating his dinner. He didn't look up when Lieutenant Yew sat next to him.

"Good Afternoon Edgeworth," she said.

"Afternoon," Miles said.

Lang rushed back to the table from where ever he'd gone, "So anyway… What about his squadron? Do you know what squadron he's with?"

"Will you stop asking?"

"Are you talking about his pilot?" Yew smirked up at them, "I think you made it up. You'd never have it in your guts to fraternize among the Air Wing like that."

Both Miles and Lang looked up at her, confused. She leaned back in her seat and pulled out a compact and dabbed at her nose with powder.

"Since he's been here, Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth has been able to quote—verbatim—every regulation or NAVADMIN we could throw at him."

"Hyperbole," Miles said.

"You take the same path from berthing to the wardroom to admin. I've yet to see you visit Shi Long's work center or any other space for that matter, that would take you near any of the heavy equipment or weapons bays—Miles Edgeworth, I'd say you were scared to death of this ship."

"It's a deathtrap," Miles didn't even bother to deny it.

"Therefore, it stands to reason that you are not, in fact, consorting with anyone from the Air Wing."

"Conjecture…" Miles said, "Whether or not I make it my mission in life to tempt fate by poking my nose in all of the dangerous parts of this vessel has no bearing on whom I might meet or befriend."

"I say it does," she shot back, "Take for example—dinner. We are here in the XO's wardroom. Most of the Air Wing eats in the 'Dirty Shirt' wardroom—I doubt you'd ever visit a place like that."

"I had lunch there today."

"Oh really?"

"Guys," Lang stood and put his hands on the table, "Why are you arguing about it?"

"Because Edgeworth is a chicken-shit little nerd who hides in his hole like a rabbit."

"What?" Miles frowned and glared sidelong at her.

Lang started to laugh and he gave Miles a pointed look.

"It's a wonder you even come out of your stateroom everyday," Yew continued, "I'm sure if Shi wasn't there to drive you out in the mornings, you'd never leave."

"Come on! You have no way of knowing which one of us wakes up first!"

Lieutenant Yew looked at Lang and he grinned at her, "He does have a point, sis."

She made an exasperated noise and put away her compact then busied herself with her meal.

"You should come to my quarters tomorrow," Lang said grinning at Miles.

"Why?" Miles was not in the least bit interested in whatever scheme Lang had in mind.

"So my sailors will know who the JAG is—in case they have any legal concerns—"

"No," Miles said.

"Oh, please? I'll show you the inside of the Phalanx—"

"No, thank you," Miles said, "If you must, I'll have LN1 address your division on any legal matters—"

"I don't want LN1," Lang grinned wolfishly, "I want you."

"Well," Miles stood, "This has all been very entertaining, but I must depart or I'll be late for the staff—"

Lieutenant Yew sniggered and then she started laughing again. Miles glared at her and then glanced at Lang.

"Good day."

Miles could still hear her laughing as he left the wardroom.

"LN1," Miles said upon entering the tiny space allotted to the legal department. She turned to look at him, rubbing her eyes as she did.

"Hey, El Tee!" She said stifling a yawn, "It's a little late, isn't it?"

"How would you like to go to quarters for the other divisions to brief them on some of the legal programs that we—"

"But Sir! There are like hundreds of other divisions…"

"We can just go to the larger—"

"El Tee, if you're really worried about getting the message across, I can get the MC's to make a commercial for us and they can show it all over the ship."

Miles stared at her blankly, "Ah… Right… I see…"

LN1 grinned at him, "Guess what sir?"

"Um," Miles said nervously while LN1 grinned at him bobbing her head in a way that he assumed was supposed to be 'with attitude', "I'm sorry, what?"

"I got mail today!" She held up the latest Cosmo—it was only a couple of weeks old, "Come on, sir! We got quizzes to do!"

Miles sighed heavily at her, "I'm going to the staff meeting."

"Don't worry, El Tee," she said tapping the top of her head vapidly, "I'll save them for you."

Miles grabbed a notebook and left the legal department and headed toward the conference room.

"Sir! Mister Edgeworth!"

Miles paused and turned to look at the harried young man running after him in the corridor.

"Sir," he held out a folder, "I put together the case summaries like you asked, sir."

Miles took the folder and forced a smile, "Thank you Petty Officer Justice."

The young LN3 grinned sheepishly and then bobbed in kind of a bow, obviously pleased with himself. Miles didn't remember asking him to do it and if he had asked LN3 to complete the task it was probably just to keep him busy and out of the way.

"You're welcome, sir!" LN3 was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Miles frowned, "Are you okay, Justice?"

"Yes! I'm fine! Everything is fine, sir!"

Miles looked at his watch, "You know it's rather late, don't you have something else to take care of?"

"No sir,"LN3 drooped a little, "Do you need anything else, sir?"

"Er... Don't you have to study for ESWS?"

"No, sir."

"What about PT?"

"Well," LN3 cocked his head thoughtfully, "It's a rest day."

Miles sighed, he was in a hurry now, "Why don't you go see if LN1 has anything for you?"

"Okay!" LN3 bobbed at him again, "Take care, sir!"

Miles frowned after him, the poor kid was trying too hard.

He entered the conference room behind a man in a flight suit and found that he had arrived late enough that there were no seats left. He stood against the bulkhead and flipped through his notebook, looking for a blank page.

"Attention on deck!"

They all stood at attention when the order was called, Miles almost dropped his notebook. The XO came in and took his seat at the head of the table, "Carry on."

The XO was a big man with a full head of premature white hair and a face prone to smiling. Despite his gregarious demeanor, his was an intimidating man.

"Evening, folks" he said with a blustering chuckle, "Sorry this is going down so late, we had few scheduling conflicts. Skipper couldn't make it tonight, so you're stuck with me."

XO paused to laugh boisterously. The other officers in the room looked around nervously, a few of them started to chuckle along. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"So," XO said with a disconcerting amount of seriousness following such a happy outburst, "Let's just start with Special Assistants."

The officers in the room stood up in turn and reported on their respective operations.

"Evening, XO," He was the CFL for the ship, Lieutenant Portman, "We put out our ten-week notice last Friday, and the POA&M for this PRT Cycle has gone out. Departments will be running their own mocks."

XO turned to glare directly at Miles, "JAG!"

Miles actually jumped, "Yes sir?"

"Make sure we're up to date on our page thirteens. Hopefully, Portman's doing his job correctly and legal wont have too many separations. But—better to be ready. Right JAG?"

"Yes sir," Miles swallowed, the XO was a scary guy.

XO stared at him for several dragged out moments, Miles felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, "So uh... Lieutenant—?"

"Edgeworth, sir."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," XO bore into him with his piercing green stare, "I think you're missing something there, boyo..."

Miles' eyebrows twitched and he looked down at his uniform and saw the bare spot on his ribbon rack where he was missing a ribbon. He felt his face grow red as a few chuckles scattered around the conference room.

XO was laughing and slapping the arm of his chair. Miles started to sweat and looked around the room in horror.

"I can't believe..." Miles was sitting on his rack in his PT gear with his arms crossed and his head down.

Lang smiled sympathetically, "It happens, lawyer boy. You have an extra one, right?"

Miles shook his head, "I feel like such an idiot."

Lang opened the coffin locker under his rack, "I think I have an extra one... I try to keep a couple on hand—since we don't exactly have easy access to an NEX."

Lang passed the ribbon up to him, "You should superglue it."

"That's not in the regulations... Can we glue—"

"Ship hack, Lawyer-boy," Lang grinned, "So what are you doing tonight? Are you going to the gym?"

Miles stared at the ribbon in his hand, "I should—someone called me skinny."

Lang laughed out loud, "Okay, but Cali wanted me to bring you out to karaoke night."

Miles shook his head, "I really don't think so."

"It'll be good for you to meet more of the crew," Lang said, "You can throw on your N-dubs, at least you don't have to wear ribbons on them."

Miles shook his head.

"Please?" Lang grinned, "It's OPS versus the Air Wing. Maybe you'll see your pilot."

"Definitely no," Miles said, "Look, Lang—"

"Shi," Lang corrected with a raised index finger.

"Yes well, Shi," Miles glared down at him, "I might just go to bed."

"Are you that upset about the ribbon?"

Miles shook his head.

"Come out," Lang's tone was suddenly cajoling, "You might have fun. You could probably do with some fun."

Miles glared at him, "I highly doubt that. I do perfectly well as I am."

"Cali is going to be upset if you don't go."

"Look, I'll be honest," Miles shrugged, "I don't really care. She's not very pleasant."

Lang burst out in another bout of laughter, "She really likes you."

Miles shot him a dark look, "Forgive me if I have trouble believing that."

"She does," Lang said as if that were explanation enough, "Come on, get dressed."

In the end, it was easier to acquiesce. Having a roommate was proving to be very bothersome indeed. There was no privacy. There didn't seem to be much privacy anywhere on the ship. These were the things the recruiter had glossed over—the questions he hadn't known to ask.

Lang met two other officers Miles didn't recognize as they made their way to the forward mess. Miles hovered in the back of the group while they carried on an animated discussion about 'crushing the competition' and 'beating those squatters'. He had always thought karaoke involved off key drunken singing. These guys took it to a whole other level.

He could hear a faded beat pounding against the bulkheads even as they approached the forward mess.

When the entered the mess there were thirty or so officers sitting at the tables and five—four men and a woman—wearing flight suits and performing at the front of the room.

Miles didn't recognize the song, but the man currently singing—if you could call it that—was that Larry Butz guy he met at lunch.

". _..I apologize for any skipping tracks. It's just the last girl that played me—"_ Larry was shouting into the microphone.

"They already started," Lang commented as the group moved to join the audience.

"— _left a couple cracks. I used to—used to—used to, now I'm over that."_

Miles sat a table near the others and glared at the guys performing—wait—was that? He ran a hand over his face. At least it was dark in the mess and it was almost too loud to think and loud enough to prevent any risk of conversation.

" _Cause holding grudges over love is ancient artifacts."_

"Hello Miles!" she had her mouth right up to his ear when she shouted and he jerked away from Lieutenant Yew in surprise and cupped the offended ear with his hand. He glared angrily at her but she'd already moved past him to talk to Lang. When they spoke they had to lean in closely and speak in the other's ear. It all seemed rather unbecoming.

" _My heart's a stereo,"_ Miles looked up, Phoenix had the microphone. He was singing now. He actually didn't sound bad—even though the song was strange.

" _It beats for you, so listen close. Hear my thoughts in every no-oh-oht,"_ Is he looking at me?

" _Make me your radio; and turn me up when you feel low,"_ Phoenix raised his arm and pointed out into the audience, " _This melody was meant for you. Just sing along to my stereo."_

The five of them had some kind of choreographic routine they were doing. It wasn't elaborate, but it looked good.

"That guy is so hot!" Yew yelled into Miles other ear—he hadn't even noticed she'd sat next to him.

" _Oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh to my stereo."_

"Pilots are just awful," she continued and he cringed, "But Nick Wright is kind of a nice guy! Once you get past the whole pilot thing!"

" _Oh oh oh oh to sing along to my stereo,"_ Phoenix handed the mike to another member of their group, one Miles hadn't seen before.

" _If I was an old-school fifty pound boombox_ ," other guy sang.

"Remember them?" Phoenix shouted.

" _Would you hold me on your shoulder wherever you walk?"_

"I can't believe they did that song," Lang was shouting at one of the other officers.

" _Would you turn my volume up in front of the cops;"_

"He's the only one around here that fills out that flight suit quite like that," Yew shouted at him. Why was she still talking to me?

" _And crank it higher every time they told you to stop?"_

"I talked to him in the Starbucks line last week!"

" _And all I ask is that you don't get mad at me;"_

Miles rolled his eyes.

" _When you have to purchase mad D batteries."_

"Shi thinks I don't have a chance," she had pulled out her compact and was dabbing her nose while she yelled her half of the conversation at him, "But I really feel we made a connection!"

" _Appreciate every mix-tape your friends make—You never know we come and go like on the interstate,"_ other guy handed the mike back to Phoenix and he moved in front of the group smiling out at the audience.

" _I think I finally found a note to make you understand."_

"Oh my God," Yew grabbed Miles' sleeve and he frowned at her, "He's looking over here."

" _If you can hit it, sing along and take me by the hand,"_ he tapped his chest with the flat of his hand and then pointed at the audience.

"He's looking right at me!"

Miles could feel the blush warm his face; he's looking at me...

" _Just keep me stuck inside your head, like your favorite tune; You know my heart's a stereo that only plays for you."_

"He's so hot..."

Miles glared at her and then stood up. He hesitated for a moment and left the mess. Wow, that was happening. He rubbed his poor ears and hoped he wouldn't get lost.

"Hey, Edgeworth!"

Miles turned to see Lang hurrying after him.

"What? You're leaving?" Lang called after him and then caught him up, "What happened?"

Miles shook his head, "It's a little loud. Lieutenant Yew was shouting in my ear. Now, I have a headache coming on."

Lang gave him a look, "Really?"

That and Phoenix Wright is there. Miles rubbed his ear and smirked at Lang, "I don't really like this sort of thing."

"Okay," Lang said, "But Cali is going to be pissed that you missed her song."

"Maybe some other time... Good night."

"Good night?" Lang said, "It's like eight o'clock!"

"That's nighttime," Miles said and waggled an index finger at Lang.

"Come on, just stay a little longer. I think Cali is going next—she's been here since they set up—just so she could get on the list."

I can go and placate him or I can listen to him talk about it all night, Miles grimaced.

"I'm going to bed, I'm certain you'll want to share all the details over breakfast anyway."

Lang gave him a scrutinizing look and then grinned, "Fine Lawyer-boy. You're the one that has to work with Cali—not me."

"She seems pretty preoccupied," Miles smirked and then turned away from Lang, "I doubt she'll take very much notice of my absence."

"Night!" Lang shouted and went back into the mess.

Miles sighed—what the hell Phoenix Wright? He might as well get on the 1MC and announce it to the whole ship. What happened to being patient?

Miles shook off thoughts of what might have been a much more disastrous night, he still had the daunting task of finding his berthing from where he was.

Stupid boat.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Wahahaahhahaha! Okay, it's just a sort of day in the life of episode—since pilots do action packed and awesome stuff, but nobody really knows what the legalmen do in their offices. And karaoke... So you're probably like no way, what a bunch of dorks... It really is that boring underway...**_

" _ **Stereo Hearts" is written by Travie McCoy and Adam Levine and is owned by Warner Bros. Records**_

 _El Tee- "LT" for Lieutenant (in case it wasn't obvious)_

 _LN1- Legalman First Class an enlisted rating—kind of like a paralegal._

 _MC- Mass Communications Specialist_

 _AO- Admin Officer—Winston Payne_

 _CSO- Chief Staff Officer— Redd White_

 _XO- Executive Officer—Damon Gant (XO on a carrier is an O-6 Captain)_

 _CFL-Command Fitness Leader (PRT- Physical Readiness Test)_

 _LN1 here is based on Iney Miney from that one where they channel her sister and the doctor gets killed?_

 _NEX-Navy Exchange (shopping for sailors)_

 _LN3-Apollo Justice_

 _N-dubs – NWUs_

 _Yes, US Carriers have Starbucks on board..._

 _As always, Reviews are greatly appreciated…_


	6. Surge OPS

**Chapter 6**

 **Surge OPS**

* * *

Phoenix joined Larry in the ready room, dropping himself into one of the large leather chairs bolted into the floor. He let his helmet bag fall beside him.

Larry chuckled at him, "We killed those OPS guys the other night."

Phoenix shrugged but he returned Larry's smile, "How do you feel?"

"Awesome," Larry said.

"Good," Phoenix laughed, "Because this one is going to be long."

"All right!" Larry sat up in his chair and pumped his fists, "Give it to me!"

Phoenix grinned, "Bring it!"

They laughed. The other aviators trickled in and the ready room filled with sidebar conversations and chatter. Phoenix raised his eyebrows.

"The whole Squadron is here," he looked at Larry, "Do you know what's going on?"

"I heard the CAG wants to talk to us," Larry frowned, "I heard we're going to be surging."

Phoenix sat back in his chair and frowned. He'd promised Edgeworth he'd help him learn the ship. If we really are surging, I don't know if I'll be able to meet with him. He looked around the room at the other aviators talking in groups. Would he understand, even if I can't get a message to him? Will I even be able to tell him?

The chatter died immediately when the CAG entered with the Wing's N2 and their own Intel Officer.

"Attention on Deck!" They all stood at attention at the order.

"Carry on, fellas," Captain Skye said and she marched up to the front of the ready room. "Good morning, guys. Are you ready for this?"

A loud chorus of 'Yes ma'am' echoed about the room.

"Commander Armando and I are just stopping by to congratulate you on twenty-nine successful missions this deployment. You're our only VAQ and you've proven just how outstanding you can be. Fortunately we haven't had an actual need for your specialty, but this deployment has us busier than we've ever seen. All together we've flown over 60 sorties over hostile territory and you guys make it look easy. Thank you for your dedication to excellence and mission success."

The Captain smiled and then motioned for Commander Armando to join her at the podium, "Bob," she said to the Lieutenant Commander standing near the door, "Can you make sure that hatch is secured?"

Phoenix glanced at Larry and rubbed his chin. He was suddenly giddy with anticipation and drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. Commander Armando met his eye while he flipped through his steno pad at the podium. Then he took a drought from his large coffee mug.

"Good morning," he drawled, "I want to remind everyone present that this brief is classified secret and you are not to discuss the contents of this brief outside of this room."

Phoenix rubbed his hands together and leaned forward in his seat. This ought to be good. He frowned at himself, what will you say to _him_?

"So I'm going to cut right to the chase," Commander Armando said, "Because you guys have a schedule. You should be aware that the recent coup in Cohdopia has led to a significant change in their foreign policy. We've received intelligence that the threat of hostile action against our forces is imminent over the next seventy-two hours."

Larry shot a worried look at Phoenix.

"Now, more than ever, we need you guys on your game. The Admiral has ordered increased EA capability and presence until further notice. Things are going to get busy. It's going to get hard. But you have my full confidence in your ability to meet this challenge."

Commander Armando paused to take a draught from his coffee cup, then he raised the large travel mug with the ship's logo on it, "You may want to fortify yourselves. I recommend my special blend number 67. Thanks for your attention, have a fine Navy day."

A few of the officers in the audience chuckled as Commander Armando left the podium. The Lieutenant Commander near the hatch opened it as Armando and Captain Skye departed the room.

"Attention on deck!"

The squadron commander put them at ease and started the mission brief. Phoenix sighed. Usually he'd be excited about news like this. News like this meant that they were getting a break from the mundane.

But suddenly, he wanted the mundane. He wanted time for wandering aimlessly around the ship. Maybe a few stolen moments with...

Phoenix was contemplative as he walked behind Larry toward the flight deck. What did you expect? He sighed.

Larry looked back at him, "You doing okay, bro?"

Phoenix forced his bravest smile, "Of course."

By the time he was settled in the cockpit, Phoenix had managed to clear his head of all these raging thoughts about Edgeworth. He just kind of showed up out of the blue anyway, and Phoenix had other cares and responsibilities that none of the folks at home would ever get. He flipped the engines on and casually checked his flaps.

"Hey Nick," Larry's voice crackled through his headset, "AM3 says 'crash and burn'"

Phoenix smiled, "Ain't nobody got time for that."

He checked the gauges and the lights and then sat back waiting for his turn to taxi.

"Nick," Larry said, "We'll be flying with Matt and Juan today."

Phoenix shrugged and then realized that Larry couldn't see it, "Roger."

With the Air Boss's permission Phoenix let out the throttle and started taxiing into position behind the catapult. Several green shirts ran up to his plane to attach the launch bar. Phoenix raised his gaze away from the flight deck and stared out at the sea. He couldn't feel it, but his fix on the horizon told him they were turning the ship.

They gave him the order to move onto the catapult. He waited while personnel signaled around him and disappeared out of the way. He felt rather than saw the JBD panel rise up from the deck behind him. He secured his mask and put up a hand so Larry could take it. They clasped hands for a moment and then he opened the throttle all the way sending a burst of flame against the JBD and a roar into the space around them.

He was holding his breath. It was like this every time. Then suddenly they shot forward so fast both of them were pressed into their seats and just as suddenly they were airborne.

"WOOOOOOOH! YEAH!" Larry screamed. Larry always screamed. Well, Phoenix thought, smiling behind his mask, you could say every launch was a freaking miracle.

He turned sharply, his plane banking hard to the left so that they were nearly sideways.

"Hey, Sick," Phoenix startled for a moment.

"Sick-Burn," he said, "Go ahead."

"Where are you?"

"Coming up on your five o'clock—two—twenty-five hundred yards."

"Okay, I see you," the other pilot's voice fizzed, "—min Ninja."

"Roger," Phoenix said, "Hey Larry."

"Yeah?"

"Turn your shit on."

"It's on," Larry said, "Stop being bossy."

Phoenix laughed and settled in for the flight. The commander's brief earlier had the added effect of raising their anticipation and Phoenix found he was trilling with excitement in spite of himself. This was a longer mission than he was accustomed to and though he and Larry hung back in a support role to the two fighters, there was a measure of excitement at the thought of some action occurring.

Seven uneventful hours later Phoenix followed the Fighters into the pattern above the ship. So much for this 'imminent' threat. Not that he really wanted to deal with getting shot at. Getting shot at did not seem like fun.

The carrier looked like a toy below them; tiny and still in spite of the churning gray water around it. As he approached final he let his landing gear down and began his descent. He stared at the ship in front of him watching its subtle movement in the water. As exciting as the catapult was, landing was a much harder evolution. This took skill.

Phoenix listened to the tower and made his approach. As the ship loomed large into his view everything seemed to speed up. He always had that near-miss feeling in the pit of his stomach when he landed. There was a bump as they hit the deck and then the trap stopped them. There was a pause while he waited for the order to release brakes and taxi.

Phoenix entered the ship behind Larry and Lieutenant Corrida who were discussing something about the flight. Lieutenant Engarde had gone inside well ahead of them. Phoenix rubbed at his spiky hair and yawned. He couldn't stop yawning.

"Hey Nick," Corrida said pausing to look back at him, "Good job today."

Phoenix smiled but was only able to answer with another yawn.

The three of them joined Engarde in the ready room for the debrief. The squadron's N2, Lieutenant Commander Marshall, was there with Commander Johns, the squadron commander.

"Welcome back, y'all," Commander Marshall said with a capricious smirk, "Y'all had a good run?"

"It was quiet, sir," Engarde said.

"Good," Marshall smiled, "Quiet is good, right?"

"Wha—" Phoenix startled.

Marshall looked at Larry, "Did you get anything?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir," Larry said and then yawned.

"Well, if there's nothing to report," Marshall looked at Commander Johns, "I'll leave you to it."

He stood and walked out of the room. Phoenix frowned after him and then he yawned.

"I don't have anything for you guys," Johns said, "Just make sure to check the board because we've had a lot of changes to the flight schedule. Wright?"

Phoenix sat up, "Yes sir?"

He put up a hand to stifle another yawn.

"You might want to have them look at your oxygen," Johns said.

"I know sir," Phoenix said, "I think we're both a little hypoxic."

The commander frowned, "Do you guys need to go to sick bay?"

"I think we'll be okay," Phoenix said and then yawned again.

Larry dragged behind him as they made their way back to berthing. Phoenix stifled another yawn and looked at the other man, "Hey, are you hungry?"

Larry was yawning, but he nodded, "Yeah. I'm starving. That flight didn't serve meals."

Phoenix smiled at him, "Budget cuts, you know. Do you want to go to the mess?"

"I don't know man," Larry said, "I'm so tired too. I kinda just want to hit my rack."

Phoenix nodded, "Stifling another yawn. Remind me to pack snacks for the next one."

Larry laughed in spite of his weariness.

They entered the berthing and made a beeline for their stateroom. Inside, Phoenix sat on the deck to take off his boots while Larry climbed into his rack boots and all.

"Wake me up for midrats," Larry mumbled into his pillow.

Phoenix frowned up at him and dug around for his phone, "Okay, I'll set an alarm"

With the alarm set, Phoenix stuck his phone under his pillow and stifled another yawn before stripping out of his flight suit. He smiled; Larry was already starting to snore.

That's how it went for the next two weeks. Their flights were longer, and they were flying more missions per week—sometimes back to back. Phoenix wasn't sure quite how many days had passed while they were caught up in the surge.

He was sitting in the flight surgeon's office with Lieutenant Commander Hickfield. The Commander was perusing his chart with a frown.

"Are you sleeping well?" Commander Hickfield said without looking up at him.

Phoenix ran a hand through his hair and frowned, "Yeah. I sleep whenever I can. My Squadron Commander has been pretty cool about everything."

"You're way above your hours for the month," the flight surgeon said with a glare.

Phoenix stared incredulously at him. It's not like I did this for my own sake.

"You've lost six pounds in two weeks," the commander shook his head, "I mean it's not a lot, but in two weeks?"

Phoenix shook his head and stared at the wall, "We're busy. What can I say?"

"You know my recommendation, Lieutenant," the commander said.

Phoenix leaned forward and met the doctor's eye directly, "I'm fine! The month's almost over."

The Commander nodded solemnly, "Your Commander and the CAG both came in here on your behalf—well all of you in the squadron in this situation. They're talking about standing down the surge. But I don't feel comfortable waiving this."

Phoenix crossed his arms, "Just give me my up chit, doc. I promise I won't die."

Commander Hickfield laughed, "Good, I'll tell that to your mother when we're scraping you off the flight deck because you were too fatigued for VFR. Here's your record, go see HM1 and get some rest."

Phoenix grabbed the record and sighed as he walked way from the doctor's desk and went to look for HM1.

Phoenix dragged a metal folding chair over and sat under the wing of his plane. AS1 left him alone with AM3 and Airman Faraday to get chow and a smoke—he'd be gone for at least an hour, maybe more.

"Nick! Oh my God, I haven't seen you in _forever_!" AM3 was bouncing up and down with her fists clenched and her cheeks puffed out. She paused and looked pointedly at the new kid, "I mean… Sir, we haven't seen you in a while…"

Phoenix shrugged, "It's been busy."

"We're almost done with the checks—Chief pulled us all yesterday to watch some video about sexual harassment. After that, I took Kay to do her laundry."

"How are you getting along?" Phoenix said turning to look at Airman Faraday.

"Fine, sir," She said, "But everyone keeps saying that I have to go mess crank—how long do I have to do that for?"

"Oh, I don't know," Phoenix said, "You'll have to ask AS1—I just fly the planes around here."

"Nick you look worn out," AM3 frowned and put a hand on his shoulder, "Are you Okay?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, he leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, and grinned, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I hope they stop these extra flights," AM3 said, "It makes PMS a bitch."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "Uh, you shouldn't talk about it."

Petty Officer Fey crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, "Duh, it's just us."

Phoenix grinned at her again, "Still... Anyway, I'm not flying today or tomorrow. So I can catch up on sleep and stuff."

AM3 smiled, "What do you do besides eat and sleep when you're not flying?"

Phoenix frowned, "I work out. Read."

"What are you reading?"

"Oh," Phoenix said, "It's this book about Guadal Canal—it's on the reading list…"

"How can you be so boring?" AM3 said, "What else did you do?"

Phoenix smiled at her, "It's been insanely busy lately."

"I know, Nick," she smiled sweetly, "I guess we just missed you."

"You're too nice," Phoenix said, "No one brought you guys lunch while I was gone?"

"Yeah, we had to eat with all the stinky ship people."

Phoenix laughed, "I missed you guys too."

"AS1 will get mad if I don't finish these cards before we take off for lunch," AM3 said and stood. Faraday followed her. But she paused and nodded at him.

He watched AM3 walk Faraday through one of the PMS cards. Teaching her the ropes so to speak—Phoenix smiled at them. Both of them were small girls in baggy grease covered coveralls. AM3 had a habit of keeping a rag in her back pocket and several wrenches in her right hip pocket. It was ridiculously cute.

"Say, Nick," AM3 said, leaving Faraday alone to complete the checks, "Do you know anything about a port visit?"

Phoenix shrugged—but he certainly liked the sound of that, "No, I wouldn't know. I guess I can ask around, Butz might know someone who knows something—he's always hanging around those secret squirrel types."

"If we did have a port call, do you think we could have dinner together one of those nights?"

Phoenix almost blushed—he did smile though, and said, "We couldn't—just me and you, but if I opened it up to the whole crew—maybe invite AS1 and Chief, I'm sure that might pan out."

"It was worth a try," she said quietly.

Phoenix tapped her elbow, "Stop trying to get me in trouble Maya."

She grinned at him, "You know I'd never let any thing happen to you, Nick."

Phoenix laughed, "I better go before we end up in front of the man."

"Don't be a stranger, El Tee!"

"I'll see you around," Phoenix stood to leave.

"Alright," AM3 stood up again, "I'm going to check on the NUGIT. Why don't you go get us the nice sandwiches from the wardroom?"

"What do you want?" Phoenix stretched his back where he stood awaiting her reply.

"Surprise us—well, Kay doesn't do Ham or Roast beef," AM3 said.

He started to walk away from them, "I'll be back soon."

"Thanks El Tee!"

"Take care of my girl!"

"Of course!"

Phoenix climbed up to the O-3 level and checked his watch. It wasn't quite eleven o'clock yet.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he followed his traitorous boots to staff admin. He opened the hatch reluctantly and took his time dogging it down before approaching the counter.

The YN1 smiled sweetly at him as he approached, "Good morning, sir. What can we help you with?"

"Um," Phoenix ran a hand through his hair nervously, "I uh—I need to update my will."

This is crazy. He's probably already pissed that you've been gone for two weeks and now you're just going to barge into his workspace?

"Sure," YN1 moved to unlatch the chain that kept customers out from behind the counter, "If you go straight back you'll find the legal department. LN1 Miney can hook you up."

"Uh, thanks," Phoenix nodded politely and went back toward legal. He frowned when he saw two Legalmen Petty Officers and no sign of JAG.

The two of them looked up at him in shock.

"Can I help you sir?" LN1 said.

"Yeah I was..." I was looking for JAG. "I need to update my will," he smiled sheepishly at her.

"Oh," she stood and squeezed past LN3 so she could sit at the lone computer, "Sure, we can help you sir."

"Okay, let's see if we can get the damn thing to cooperate!"

Phoenix looked up. Oh, there you are...

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Ack poor Phoenix… Will Miles be upset with him?**_

 _So Phoenix and Maya have a totally unduly, untoward relationship that is completely illegal in the Navy—but it's Phoenix and Maya…_

 _CAG=Commander, Air Group_

 _VAQ=Electronic Attack Squadron_

 _EA= Electronic Attack_

 _Midrats – [Midnight Rations] meals served for the night shift (there's four meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Midrats)_

 _JBD-Jet Blast Deflector_

 _Cast note:_

 _CAG – Captain Lana Skye_

 _CAG N2 (Intel Officer for the Wing) – Commander Diego Armando_

 _VAQ Commander – Commander Billy Bob Johns_

 _VAQ N2 (Squadron Intel Commander) – Lieutenant Commander Neal Marshall_

 _LT Engarde and LT Corrida – are pilots from the fighter squadron_

 _The Flight Surgeon is –the Hickfield director (the one that we never see); HM1 is the creepy pink haired guy._

 _(Hey, let me have my nerdly fun...)_

 _So Nick and Larry fly a Growler, it's basically a Hornet that's been modified for EA. So technically they're fighter pilots but they have a slightly different job than the rest of the fighters. In case you were wondering._

 _I know there's a lot of Navy gibberish, I try to explain most of it down here, but rest assured, if it's not addressed it really has no material bearing on the story and is really only put in to add detail and realism. (Heck half the stuff I do explain isn't really necessary either.)_

 _I don't know anything about airplanes, so I apologize in advance._


	7. Scuttlebutt

**Chapter 7**

 **Scuttlebutt**

* * *

"Hey!"

Miles startled awake to find Lang nearly nose to nose with him.

"What are you—?"

"You were shouting in your sleep," Lang was frowning with sincere concern.

Miles swallowed. Damn. It was starting to rear its ugly head again. These last several weeks on the ship he either couldn't sleep for all the noise or he'd been too exhausted to dream. Miles stared nervously at Lang's worried face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Lang shook his head, "You were _shouting_!"

Miles pushed up from where he lay and sat up frowning down at Lang where he was standing on his own rack to peer at Miles. He was so embarrassed. Why did he have to have a roommate?

Lang was glaring at him with scrutiny, his brow was furrowed and in the dim red lighting he looked mean. Miles put a hand to his pounding heart. He put his head down.

"Do you get night terrors?" Lang said when Miles remained silent.

Miles shook his head but he turned to the wall refusing to look at the other man.

"You'll have to go to sick bay—"

"NO!" Miles met his eye his tone beseeching and desperate, "No... They'll send me back to DC... or worse, kick me out..."

Lang hopped down from his rack and pulled the chair out from where it was secured under the desk. He sat down.

"But if you need help..."

Miles slid down from his rack and started to pace around the tiny space of their stateroom, "I don't need help. It must've been a bad dream—that's all."

Lang stared at him incredulously, "You were _shouting_..."

Miles paused in his pacing and looked pleadingly at Lang, "Come on, it's nothing..."

"You were shouting about murder and death and—if I hadn't woken you up you might've woke up the whole berthing!"

"It won't happen again," Miles said.

Lang only frowned up at him and then crossed his arms, "Is it because I made you go to karaoke?"

Miles stared at him for several drawn out moments and then he laughed.

Lang shook his head, "Seriously though, this isn't funny."

"I promise it won't happen again," Miles said glaring now at the other man.

He knew it wasn't fair; Lang was only showing the concern of someone who cared. Someone who obviously felt he was being a good friend. But really, it was nobody's business but his own.

Lang shook his head again and stood. He shoved the chair under the desk roughly, apparently upset about the situation.

Miles frowned, "I'm sorry I woke you up. I certainly didn't mean to."

Lang started pacing on his side of the stateroom, "That isn't the point here. I have an obligation to—a duty to report you!"

Miles felt a surge of panic rise into his chest, "There's been no crime here!"

Lang walked up to him and stuck his face into Mile's face, like a dog spoiling for a fight, "And if this is something more than just bad dreams? If you decide to—I don't know—jump off the ship? Am I just supposed to play ignorant?"

Miles stepped away from him. Lieutenant Lang was taller than him and as intimidating as a wolf when he was serious.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Miles said coolly.

Lang threw his arms up suddenly, "I'm not going to back down until I know the truth!"

Lang's words came out like a growl and he grimaced menacingly, showing all of his teeth. Miles swallowed again.

"There's no reason for you to worry. Not about me and not about reporting this. Nothing happened."

"Says you! You've been in the Navy since breakfast! What do you know about—"

"Because I'm the JAG," Miles' voice was forceful suddenly, but steady and calm.

Lang cooled abruptly and scratched the back of his head, "Fine. I suppose it's your job to know the rules and regulations."

Miles watched him warily; still upset with the other man's outburst.

Lang started to pace around the room again. Rubbing his head emphatically and grunting in annoyance. Miles followed him with his eyes. This was a complicated situation indeed.

Lang went and yanked the chair out from under the desk again and sat down.

"What happened?"

Miles glared at him and then finally, he shook his head, "No. You don't get to ask me that. I barely know you."

Lang shot him his crooked grin and cocked his head, "We've been sleeping together for almost a month!"

Miles startled and then cleared his throat, "Er... Sleeping in the same room—"

"That's what I said."

Miles sighed and then opened his locker. He took off his pajama top and put on a yellow PTU shirt.

"Where are you going? It's two in the morning," Lang leapt to his feet, "Look, we should go back to bed. We'll figure this out in the morning."

"There's nothing to figure out," Miles said and slid on his shorts.

"I won't say anything for now. Just promise me that you're all right," Lang seemed desperate suddenly and Miles paused to glare at him and then he went back to putting on his socks and shoes.

"Where are you going?"

Miles left the stateroom and started walking briskly toward the nearest ladder well. Lang was right behind him.

"Why are you—?" Lang called after him.

Miles dogged the ladder well hatch and stood there holding the bar down so that Lang couldn't open it. He'd been doing well the last month. He thought maybe it was over, but apparently...

Lang banged on the hatch with increasing fury. He was kind of a scary guy in that state. Miles let go of the bar and stepped back. He wouldn't be able to lose him. He may as well get this over with.

Lang swung the hatch open so hard it slammed into the bulkhead with a crash. Lang was livid. Miles crossed his arms and glared at him. Lang glared back at him with his chin tucked and his shoulder's squared. Miles had the distinct feeling that he was about to get slammed into the bulkhead. The stare down lasted for what felt like ten minutes.

Miles broke their standoff and turned to the ladder. He sat on the top step and put his head in his hands. This was bad. How do you hide this?

Curse this ship. There was no privacy.

Miles felt Lang's presence as the other man joined him on the ladder.

"So, I understand lawyer-boy," Lang said, "I'm not a professional. You don't have to talk to me, but if there's a problem, you need to talk to some—"

"What makes you think there's a problem?"

Lang hesitated for a moment, "This isn't my first deployment."

Miles rolled his eyes. How was that relevant?

"This job... Being in the Navy isn't like having a job. Everything about your life is managed by the organization—out of necessity. Then everyone has their actual job. Families that we don't get to see..."

What's he blabbing about now?

"I've seen bad things happen to good sailors," Lang's voice grew quiet, contemplative. They were sitting near enough to each other that Miles heard him swallow.

"Two deployments ago..." Lang hesitated, "One of my sailors killed himself. I was a brand new Ensign—"

"You make too many assumptions," Miles said. Make it stop!

"I've seen the signs," Lang muttered almost inaudibly.

"It was nothing, a bad dream," Miles replied—how do I get him to quit?

They sat silently in the dim red glow of the ladder.

"What happened to you?" Lang asked, his voice low almost a whisper.

Miles sighed. There was no way he'd be able to avoid his roommate for the whole deployment. This was going to be inevitable.

"My father was murdered in front of me," he glanced sidelong at his companion, "I was nine."

Lang was silent but Miles could feel his eyes boring into him. They sat in the suffocating silence for a minute or twenty—it was hard to tell.

"I'm sorry," Lang whispered in a mix of awkward sympathy. People normally had a hard time responding to that. Miles smiled at the thought and felt a chuckle rise in his throat. He sobbed instead.

He felt Lang's arm fall over his shoulders. He wasn't sure what was worse, losing his composure in front of this man or falling subject to his inept attempt at comfort.

Miles managed to rein it in before he fell into a blubbering mess. He steeled himself against this ridiculous display of emotion and forced himself to stand. He stared down into the dark empty ladder well. Not sure if he should keep going or turn around and go back to bed.

"Miles," Lang was still sitting on the step, "Let's go back to bed."

Their little fiasco the night before left both of them weary and irritable that morning. They both decided to skip PT and breakfast in order to catch a few extra winks.

Miles arrived at his workspace harried and a little disheveled.

"Morning El Tee!" LN1 greeted him with her vapid smile.

"Good morning," he said, "Sorry I'm late."

"You're not late, sir!" She poked her tongue out and tapped her head, "You're just not as early as usual!"

Miles glared sidelong at her before pulling his notebook out of the shared drawer they used in the small space.

"LN3 took the 'What kind of sexy are you?' quiz," LN1 said, "He's Bombshell sexy!"

Miles made a face at her. She didn't seem to notice but LN3 was blushing full and red.

"He's also secretly a bitch," LN1 added.

"Do either of you have anything work related?" Miles put his hands on his hips and glared at each of them in turn.

LN3 was nearly trembling, "I'm not really a bitch, sir!"

"You don't have to shout," Miles' eyes narrowed to slits, "I'm standing right here."

He left the frustrating and uneventful work-center and met Lang at the mess for lunch. Lang looked worn out. Sleep was such a commodity.

"Hey," Lang said with very little enthusiasm.

Miles nodded at him and they joined the queue waiting for food. It was strange. He didn't like that he'd shared his secret with Lang. Well, he'd never admit to the worst of it out loud. No one had to suffer that but him alone.

"I told Cali that I wasn't going to have lunch," he stifled a yawn, "So we should get this to go and we can eat up in the Phalanx."

Miles only gave a slight nod in response.

They didn't talk after that except to ask for to-go boxes and answer questions from the CSs serving them. There were apples today that didn't look too old and Miles grabbed an extra one. He followed Lang down to the hangar bay and they walked through the wide-open space directly aft. Miles was surprised to see sunlight and water and the churning white swell of the ship's wake. It was easy to forget sometimes that they were on a ship and not trapped in the most poorly designed office building known to man.

"Hey," Lang called down to him from a platform above. Miles hadn't realized he'd been staring. It was hard climbing the vertical ladder with his food box in his hand. Eventually Lang reached down and offered to take it from him to ease his climb.

"I sent my men for chow," Lang said while Miles followed behind him on the narrow walking areas on the deck. Miles startled a few times when the catapult fired. It was so loud the sound seemed to echo in his chest.

Lang opened a hatch and they re-entered the quiet dimness of the ship. There was another trunk to climb before they reached Lang's work-center.

Miles looked around with a frown. The space was cramped and cluttered with various bits of electronic equipment and tools. Cables and wires stretched across the deck. In one corner an abandoned game of Call of Duty was frozen on a television held in place by bungee cords.

"Sit," Lang said and plopped himself on the deck cross-legged. Miles hesitated before joining him. They ate in silence in the tiny space, both of them famished after having missed breakfast.

"I've only got a few maintenance tasks to finish up," Lang said in a casual tone, "I might call it an early day."

Miles nodded.

"I guess I could go to the gym," Lang added, "PRT is coming up."

Miles was rolling an apple in his hands.

"You don't have to be weird," Lang said, "I'm still your shipmate."

Miles only shot him a sidelong look in reply.

"You know, scuttlebutt says we'll have a port call in a couple weeks."

Lang grinned at the puzzled look on Miles' face, "Scuttlebutt, you know, the rumor mill."

"Ah," Miles said.

"I think the break will be good," Lang pulled a water bottle out of his cargo pocket and took a drought from it, "Most of us have been underway for more than two months now."

"Lang—"

"Shi or Shi-long," Lang corrected without skipping a beat.

"Yes well," Miles paused to recollect, "You won't say anything about last night?"

Lang frowned and turned the water bottle in his hand. He eventually answered with a solemn headshake, "It's none of my business—unless it happens again."

Miles stared at the apple in his hands like it had insulted him.

Lang chuckled to himself, startling Miles.

"I guess it makes sense," Lang smirked at him, "I knew you had some baggage hidden away somewhere."

Miles made a face at him.

"You were just a little too perfect," Lang continued, "There had to be something."

Miles could feel the prickling heat of embarrassment spread to his ears, "I'd rather you stopped talking about it."

Lang looked directly at him and frowned. He turned away and took a drought from his water bottle. Miles watched as he slid a personal laptop out from under one of the workstations and opened it.

"So where's your aviator?"

"He said he'd be flying today," Miles went back to frowning at the apple, "I guess I'll see him in a few days... Maybe."

"Maybe you can help," Lang's tone perked up, "Cali is obsessed with one of the Growler pilots. His name is Phoenix Wright."

Miles smiled, "I think my friend knows him."

Lang didn't look up from his computer, "Maybe you can help me with a little matchmaking."

"Wait, you mean Lieutenant Wright and Lieutenant Yew?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you and Yew..."

"Please," Lang said, "She's my hag... You know what I mean."

Miles looked at him, not sure if he was more offended or embarrassed.

"But she's boy crazy," he glanced up from the laptop, "I just want a little break from her."

"I don't blame you," Miles stood in the cramped space, "I should go back to work."

"Hang on," Lang was still focused on the laptop screen, "Let me finish this and I'll take you back—"

Miles smirked at him, "I can find it."

Lang looked up at him and grinned his cocky grin, "Well, shipmate, we'll make a regular sailor out of you yet!"

"I'll let you know how it goes with that pilot," Miles stifled a laugh before exiting the small space and climbing back into the trunk.

He made it back to the hangar bay just fine but got turned around on the main deck. It was just as well; the walk helped him think. The crowds were sparse as the galleys secured from lunch, which made the going a little easier. Miles kept an eye out for landmarks, anything he recognized. But there were so many things that looked the same.

He smiled to himself thinking about Phoenix the previous night dancing up in the mess like an idiot. A charming idiot. It was no wonder he seemed to do so well in the Navy.

Miles wondered about Lang. Their proximity to each other would make life difficult. Miles wondered how long it would take before the other man did something to give him away. Could he trust Lang? Could he afford not to?

Four days went by in a monotonous drag and he heard or saw nothing of Phoenix Wright. It was discomfiting to say the least. Was he upset that Miles walked out of the karaoke performance? Was he upset that Miles had refused his advance?

"He does have an important job," Lang pointed out one night over dinner, "Aviators are at the mercy of the flight schedules. It seems like they get special treatment and they spend a lot of time lounging around, but their job is not only very physically demanding but their missions also soak up hours out of a day. A four hour flight might mean that your pilot is occupied for eight or ten hours."

Miles contemplated this trying to find comfort in the thought that perhaps Phoenix had been busy lately. That was acceptable for the first week. But nearly two weeks and no contact? One couldn't help but take that personally.

"You worry too much," Lang was holding his feet while he did his sit ups, "One minute, you need to speed up."

"I just worry that perhaps our meeting wasn't nearly so successful as I'd thought."

"What could you have possibly done to piss him off?" Lang rolled his eyes at him, "Thirty seconds left. He's just busy."

"I hope you're right," Miles said.

"Fifteen seconds. Come on pick up the pace, you can knock out ten more," Miles found him more frightening than motivating.

"Five," Lang was glaring hard at him now, "four—come on don't stop."

"Oh it's fine," Miles said, "How many was that?"

Lang made a face at him, "Eighty-six..."

Miles stood and stretched, "That's passing."

"Don't settle for passing! You need to be outstanding! Now, shake it off, you have two minutes to knock out a hundred push-ups."

Miles glared at him, "I'm not doing a hundred push ups..."

"Grrrrr..." Lang waved his hands in the air, "You're such a—uh..."

"Lawyer?"

On top of his private dilemmas, his department was now required to provide printed transcripts of the last three separation boards held on the ship. Miles wasn't even on board when they'd happened.

And the stupid printer was being as uncooperative and vindictive as any contraption could be, short of actually being sentient. Miles had to walk carefully while balancing eight reams of paper and four toner cartridges. He had to step sideways through the hatches so he could step over the knee-knockers without tripping. The last thing he needed was to drop his precious cargo and scatter it all over the blue tile area. What if the scary XO saw him? Miles was sure he still hadn't lived down the missing ribbon incident.

YN1 May was kind enough to open the hatch for him and lead him toward legal. He could hear LN1's grating voice as he entered the spaces.

"Okay," Miles said, "Let's see if we can get the damn thing to cooperate!"

He dropped his cargo onto the desk and looked up to find he was standing face to face with Phoenix Wright.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Oh no! Perception is 9/10 of the truth on a ship...**_

 _Yeah, so here I go tying the story from the AA games to this Alternate Universe. 'Cause I'm a nerd!_

 _I don't know why, but I really like Edgeworth and Lang as buddies..._

 _1MC-kind of intercom thing on the ship_

 _At night, especially in certain areas of operations we have to maintain a dark ship. So all the lights are turned off and replaced with red lighting, which doesn't shine out but still allows some visibility._

 _CS- a Culinary Specialist (Navy Cooks)_

 _You basically get paid to work out in the Navy—lol, that and they got a PT test coming up!_


	8. No One Will Care

**Chapter 8**

 **No One Will Care**

* * *

Phoenix stared at him. Edgeworth's hair was slightly tousled from whatever he had been doing and his gray eyes were dark in the artificial light. Edgeworth's expression was impassive and Phoenix felt his breath catch nervously. He raised his chin and forced a grin at Edgeworth.

"Are you JAG?" Phoenix asked.

Miles smirked at him, "I am, what can I do for you, Lieutenant—?"

"Wright," Phoenix said, "Nice to finally meet you. I uh... Need to update my will—"

Edgeworth frowned at him. His brow twitched and then furrowed in concern.

"I can take care of him El Tee," LN1 cut in.

"LN1," Edgeworth's stare never left Phoenix's face, "Why don't you figure out how to get that printer working. I'll take care of Mister Wright."

Edgeworth turned and opened a file cabinet and dug out some forms, "Wright, it's a little crowded in here, perhaps we can find a bit of privacy on the mess decks."

"Sure," Phoenix said, "Lead the way, _JAG_."

"El Tee," LN3 popped to attention blocking their departure, "Do you—"

"Make sure LN1 doesn't kill that printer," Edgeworth said while shoving Phoenix out of the space.

In the quiet of the corridor, Edgeworth turned his worried gaze in his direction, "Where—? Is everything okay? What happened?"

Phoenix paused and looked at Edgeworth, nonplussed, "Nothing's wrong. My will is fine. I just wanted to see you."

Edgeworth leaned into him and grabbed him in a desperate embrace, "Why would you come in here talking about your will like that!"

Phoenix patted his back, "Hey, someone will see us."

Edgeworth let him go abruptly, and for a moment he smiled sincere and unguarded. Phoenix grinned; he was touched. When Edgeworth smiled—really smiled—he could melt glaciers.

They started walking toward the nearest ladder well before Phoenix had a chance to embarrass himself.

"I'm sorry about the last two weeks," Phoenix began as they descended the ladder.

"No, I understand," Edgeworth paused and looked up at him, "You have an important job and obligations."

"I wanted to let you know—"

Edgeworth dismissed him with a flip of his hand and trotted down the last few steps.

"So you'll be glad to know, they're not going to let me fly until the first of the month," Phoenix smiled, "I'm way over my hours for the month and the doc won't give me an up-chit."

"And that's good?" Edgeworth asked as he started down the next ladder.

"Well, normally I'd be upset," Phoenix said, "But circumstances being what they are..."

Edgeworth cocked his head, puzzled, "What circumstances?"

Phoenix frowned slightly, "I have to show you the ship."

Edgeworth frowned, "Oh—about that..."

Phoenix was hurt, "You mean you don't want me to—"

"No, no," Edgeworth opened the hatch and they exited onto the main deck, "I have a hearing to go to in Naples. I leave tomorrow."

"What?"

"Yeah," Edgeworth grimaced, "They're making me ride a helicopter."

Phoenix slapped his shoulder, "Cool! Like a boss!"

Edgeworth made a face and shook his head.

"How long will you be gone?"

"A couple of days—unless they decide to go forward with the court martial. Then it might be a week or more."

Phoenix stopped walking, "I'll be flying again by the time you get back."

Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair and then continued walking toward the mess decks. Phoenix hesitated before jogging to catch him up.

"We're so doomed..."

Edgeworth glanced sidelong at him but said nothing.

He chose the first table he saw and sat down. Phoenix joined him with some small measure of reluctance. The mess deck was blessedly deserted save for a couple of FSAs swabbing the deck near the scullery, well out of their earshot.

Edgeworth smoothed the forms on the table, staring at them with an intensity they probably didn't deserve.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"The flight is scheduled for fourteen hundred," Edgeworth said without looking up from the papers on the table, "But I think I have to be in ATO at noon."

Phoenix nodded.

"It'll probably take me all day to find it," Edgeworth said with a small frown.

Phoenix burst out laughing, "You realize ATO is just around the corner from where you work?"

Edgeworth met his eye, "Oh."

"Yeah," Phoenix stared at his hands on the table in front of him, "I could show you around tonight. If you feel up to it."

Edgeworth turned his head slightly, "That's fine. I can't sleep anyway..."

Phoenix sat back and stared at him. No. He wasn't still...?

"Miles," Phoenix began, but Edgeworth shook his head.

"I'm fine," he forced a small tight-lipped smile, "It's loud on the ship."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "I guess you never really get used to it."

"You should see my roommate," Edgeworth said, "It's like he can't hear that damn sliding thing at all."

Phoenix smiled, "You mean the catapult?"

"Is that what that is?"

"It's the only way a fixed-wing aircraft can gather enough speed on a deck this short."

"I don't have to do that tomorrow, do I?"

Phoenix couldn't help but smile at the look of concern on Edgeworth's face, "No. Helos are rotary. They can take off without taxiing."

"I knew that," Edgeworth frowned and tugged at his bangs.

"Don't be nervous," Phoenix cocked his head and smiled, "We've got some really good aviators in the helo det."

"You know the rotors can cut off your head," Edgeworth started tapping his fingers together and stared fixedly at them as he did so.

"There's really nothing to worry about," Phoenix couldn't help but grin at Edgeworth's discomfort, "They're perfectly safe."

Edgeworth shuddered and then he looked at Phoenix and slapped the forms on the table, "So. Your will."

"I'm an aviator," Phoenix shook his head, "My will is up to date. All of that stuff."

Edgeworth frowned, "High risk job..."

Phoenix shrugged, "It is what it is."

Edgeworth looked suddenly contemplative. His eyes were occupied in studying the forms in front of him.

"Don't worry about me," Phoenix grinned, "I'm actually pretty good at this."

He waited, but Edgeworth didn't say anything so he continued, "What time do you think you'll get done?"

"I have that hearing, so I'll have to finish packing. But mostly it depends on how soon we get that printer working."

"Do you want to meet for chow?"

"You don't think that will be too obvious?"

"Fine," Phoenix said, "Do you know how to get to the hangar bay?"

"Yes, of course," Edgeworth managed to look slightly offended.

"What about I meet you there? At about nineteen hundred or so?"

"Make it twenty hundred," Edgeworth started gathering the papers together.

"See you then," Phoenix stood and then he stuck his hand in his pocket, "I almost forgot. Here you go."

Phoenix held out his fist and hesitantly Edgeworth held out his palm. Phoenix dropped the National Defense ribbon into his hand. The blush that spread across Edgeworth's cheeks as he stared at it was precious.

Phoenix left the mess decks with a little more bounce in his step. He was smiling so much other people in the P-ways smiled back.

"Lieutenant Wright!"

Phoenix stopped in his tracks and looked at her. She was another Lieutenant with a severe countenance holding a frozen coffee drink in her hand. She might've been pretty if she didn't have that look on her face like something stank.

"I'm sorry," Phoenix said, "Have we met?"

"A couple weeks ago," she smirked at him, "At karaoke."

Phoenix ran a hand through his spikes and chuckled, "Yeah, um... I'm sorry. Not to be rude, but it was dark—I don't..."

She shot a hand at him so forcefully it took him a moment to realize she was offering a handshake, "Calisto Yew."

"Okay," Phoenix shook her hand politely, "I'm Phoenix Wri—"

"I know who you are."

"Okay."

She stood there scrutinizing him hungrily with her sharp brown eyes. Phoenix didn't want to be rude, but it was starting to get creepy.

"Um," he uttered to break the uncomfortable silence, "Did you need something from me?"

"Yes."

He stared at her. What? She's probably crazy. He motioned with his hands for her to get on with it.

"I want to do a duet with you," she nodded solemnly when she said it, "The next time they do karaoke night."

Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, "Um... wow... So I'm not really sure I'll be able to make the next one. I'm... I'm an aviator, so... My schedule can get pretty erratic."

"The next time you are able to attend. I'll wait. You, me, Islands in the Stream."

"Huh, okay," Phoenix startled as she flicked his collar playfully and turned to walk away. Wow, what a creep.

He made his way back to his stateroom and found Larry sleeping. He shook his head and changed out of his NWUs. He might as well hit the gym—he'd been letting it slide while they were surged. Plus, he ought to try and look his best tonight.

Phoenix rushed through his dinner, barely acknowledging Larry and his laments about his supposed actress girlfriend. He wasn't sure why because he hadn't been listening, but suddenly Larry was ridiculously lachrymose. He kept grabbing Phoenix's sleeve and blubbering incoherently. Really? Tonight Larry? You're going to do this _tonight_?

Phoenix had a sinking feeling in his gut as he half-carried half-dragged Larry back to berthing. I'm going to be late. I hope he waits for me.

After he'd managed to get Larry into his rack, Phoenix rushed out of the stateroom and raced down the nearest ladder. When he got down to the hanger bay, the lights were still on, but activity was starting to slow. There were a few scattered groups conducting group PT, everything from Yoga to Crossfit. A space had been cleared for runners and they were moving along in a circle.

He walked past other planes and the Captain's Gig looking around hopefully for Edgeworth. Phoenix stopped and smiled when he saw him standing near several large equipment canisters. He had his back to him, but Phoenix could recognize that hair and his too erect stance anywhere.

Phoenix snuck up on him and grabbed him from behind locking his arms. Edgeworth startled and squirmed.

"Don't—!"

Phoenix let him go and Edgeworth spun around to glare at him.

"Why do you have to cause a scene?"

"Aw come on, nobody cares," Phoenix shrugged, "Were you waiting long?"

Edgeworth glanced at his watch and then shot him a dark stare.

"Come with me, I'll show you my plane," Phoenix touched his arm and led the way across the hangar bay. They moved away from the lighted, populated area into a maze of planes of all types. They were chained to the deck. Chariots awaiting their masters.

"Watch your step," Phoenix said just in time to see Edgeworth stumble over a chain laid out on the deck. Edgeworth managed to catch himself but he looked irritated about the cluttered deck.

"There she is," Phoenix grinned and held up his hands like a magician showing off the big reveal. Edgeworth crossed his arms and looked up at the plane.

After several moments of silence, Phoenix glanced at him with a frown. Edgeworth bent to study the fuel tank under the fuselage. He started to walk around peering at whatever caught his eye. The tire. The tail hook. The tags placed by the maintenance crew to show where work was needed.

"Well," Phoenix was starting to worry, "What do you think?"

"It looks like an airplane."

Phoenix drooped a little. Really?

"What's this?" Edgeworth pointed at covered bit of electronics protruding like a blister from the chassis. Phoenix peered at it and frowned.

"Oh that," he shook his head and dragged Edgeworth away, "That's classified. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

Edgeworth clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"I honestly don't know," Phoenix admitted finally, "That's Larry's. I just fly the plane."

"I want to say I'm intrigued, but I've never really cared overly much for planes."

Phoenix sighed. Okay, so the whole 'Impress him with this two-billion dollar piece of equipment thing' just kind of fell flat.

"So. Does it start like a car?" Edgeworth was staring up at the canopy with his head cocked to one side and his hand on his chin.

Phoenix smiled. It was a lot more complicated than that, "Sort of, I guess."

Edgeworth was still fixated on the canopy and nose of the plane. Phoenix and Larry both had their names painted on the side just below it.

"Come on," Phoenix took his arm, "I know this isn't really your thing."

"No, it's rather fascinating," Edgeworth didn't resist as Phoenix led him away from the plane, "This is the monster that stole your heart."

Phoenix grinned, "Yeah. I guess."

As they left the tangled labyrinth of airplanes the bright fluorescent lights started going out in the hangar. Replaced with dim red lighting. They were walking side by side now that they had room to do so. Phoenix pushed the back of his left hand against Edgeworth's right.

They were walking so close to each other, Phoenix could feel Edgeworth's sharp intake of breath at the touch. But he didn't pull his hand away. Around them others were walking toward the perimeter of the hangar. Finding their respective ladders.

Edgeworth started to turn toward one of the ladder wells, but Phoenix grabbed the sleeve of his blouse. It was so dark he could barely make out his face, let alone whatever expression he wore.

"Just a little longer," Phoenix said softly, "You're leaving tomorrow."

Edgeworth said nothing but made no further movements toward leaving.

Phoenix led him toward the seaside gym, which was still lighted and still bustling with activity. They crossed the gym and entered another chamber that overlooked the inky black sea. Starlight found outlines in their hair and faces, but wasn't enough to reveal them to any onlooker.

Phoenix sat on the deck near the opening and dug in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out with a flourish and smiled up at Edgeworth.

Edgeworth was fixated on the sea and sky outside and he stood with his arms crossed while the breeze whipped his cropped hair around.

"Hey," Phoenix smiled, "Come sit."

He saw Edgeworth turn to look at him but his expression was unreadable in the dimness. Several moments later, when Edgeworth remained standing, Phoenix hopped to his feet. He flipped through the screens on his phone and started a song.

He saw Edgeworth's head move. Good thing it was so dark, at least Phoenix didn't have to see him glaring.

Phoenix set the phone on one of the bits near the opening while the small sounds of a piano marked the opening bars of the song. Edgeworth's head cocked.

"Wright, what are you doing?"

Phoenix smiled, following the tinny sound of the music drifting from the speakers on his phone, " _I know it's late_..."

"Oh—! Please don't," Edgeworth stepped away from him.

" _I know you're weary. I know your plaa-aans don't include me-eeh_!"

"If you don't stop—"

" _Still here we are..."_

"—I'm going to leave."

"Come on, why won't you let me serenade you?"

Edgeworth didn't reply but Phoenix could almost feel the heat of his glare. Phoenix moved in closer to him and put his hands on Miles' forearms, which were still crossed over his chest.

" _We got tonight..."_

Miles turned his head away from him and chuckled.

" _Who needs tomorrow?"_

"You're incorrigible..."

"That's why you like me," Phoenix smiled and pulled his arms straight, "Come on, let's dance."

"If you promise to leave the singing to Mister Seger," Miles said.

" _Deep in my soul_ ," Phoenix sang louder, " _I've been so lonely_."

Miles pulled away from him, shaking his head.

" _All of my hopes—_ " Phoenix was shocked when Miles kissed him. He was too surprised to move and he met Miles eyes. His vision had adjusted to the darkness and though he could make out his face it was hard to see the other's expression.

 _ **I've longed for love, like everyone else does**_

Phoenix grabbed Miles by the collar and kissed him back. Lingering where they stood.

 _ **I know I'll keep searching, even after today**_

Miles broke their kiss and put his hands up, cradling Phoenix's face. He pressed his forehead to Phoenix's forehead.

 _ **So there it is girl, I've said it all now**_

 _ **And here we are babe, what do you say?**_

They started to sway, slowly and tentatively to the music playing faintly from the phone. Phoenix laughed giddily. Miles replied with similar mirth.

 **We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?**

 **We've got tonight babe**

 **Why don't you stay?**

Suddenly Miles stopped and he rested his chin on Phoenix's shoulder, "Is this how it's going to be? Stolen moments... Brushing up against each other furtively in dark corridors?"

 _ **I know it's late, I know you're weary**_

"I'm sorry," Phoenix whispered, "But it really doesn't get better than this underway..."

 _ **I know your plans don't include me**_

"There's always a risk we'd get caught," he continued.

 _ **Still here we are, both of us lonely**_

"What if we met off the ship?" Miles' question made him smile.

 _ **Both of us lonely**_

"I thought you'd never ask," Phoenix grinned—though whether Miles could see or not was lost in the moment.

 _ **We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?**_

"Isn't this nice?" Phoenix asked.

 _ **Let's make it last**_

"Are _you_ enjoying yourself?" There was mirth in his voice despite the sardonic question.

 _ **Let's find a way**_

"What's wrong with a little romance once in a while?" Phoenix grinned and he felt Miles tremble in barely suppressed laughter.

 _ **Turn out the light**_

"Fortunately you're romantic enough for the both of us," Miles said.

 _ **come take my hand now**_

 _ **We've got tonight babe**_

 _ **Why don't you stay?**_

 _ **Why don't you stay?**_

The song ended and Phoenix led Miles to the bulkhead near the opening. The moon was rising and it was suddenly light enough for them to see each other. Phoenix sat with his back to the bulkhead. Miles sat beside him initially, but Phoenix pulled him closer so that Miles was in front of him. Phoenix put an arm around Miles' shoulder and over his chest and the other around his waist. He squeezed him tightly, burying his face against Miles shoulder blades.

 _ **I know it's late**_

The song started again.

 _ **I know you're weary**_

"Um," Miles said, "Do you really only have one song on your phone?"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Some fluffy wuffy poofy goggly puffs for you (this was so freakin fluffy...)**_

" **We've Got Tonite" written by Bob Seger and owned by Capitol Records**

 _Thank you JordanPhoenix for your bit of help, I didn't realize the implications of Phoenix updating his will until you said something... *fist bump*_

 _FSA-Food Service (something that starts with 'A') The really junior enlisted guys have to 'mess crank' they do all the menial labor associated with food service (Dishes, bussing, serving, swabbing... that sort of thing)_

 _It's okay to be gay in the military now, and it's not illegal to for them to get married either. The restriction on relationships onboard a ship are not just limited to homosexual, but all intimate relationships. Spouses can't serve on the same ship and you aren't allowed to date. Of course, it's pretty common for couples to form underway, imagine being stuck in a dumpster in the middle of the ocean... People you'd never look at twice start getting hotter, everyone is kind of desperate and lonely. And there are just so many nooks and crannies..._

 _Did anyone catch what I did there? (With the names...?)_

 _So yeah... This story just took over and I've been on a roll, but I can't keep up daily updates... I've got too much life going on. Don't give up on me just because you see updates slow down. From here on out I will only be posting on Fridays and Sundays. I may update multiple stories, but you won't be seeing anymore daily updates. (This is good, because I should be able to build a buffer too. That means fewer but more consistent updates)_


	9. Scandal

**Chapter 9**

 **Scandal**

* * *

"I can't talk about it," Miles frowned at him, "The investigation is still ongoing."

"I'm just curious," Lang shoveled some more eggs into his mouth and Miles found that he was relieved to have a break in conversation.

Miles stared at his own tray and drummed his fingers on the table.

"You should eat," Lang said, "Or you'll get airsick."

Miles picked up his fork and slid it across his plate driving a line through his eggs.

"What's wrong now?" Lang glared at him, "Did you sleep last night?"

"I'm fine," Miles said meeting his glare.

Lang grinned, "Are you scared?"

"I've never been on a helicopter before," Miles admitted, "But I've been reassured. So no, I'm not really that scared."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth?"

They both looked up in surprise at their recent companion. She was a petite blonde wearing the olive drab flight suit of an aviator and carrying her breakfast tray timidly.

"May I join you?"

Lang grunted affirmatively and slid over so that she could sit next to him in front of Miles. She set down her tray and held a hand out to him and then Lang.

"I'm Lieutenant Andrews," she smiled, "I'm flying you to Naples this afternoon."

"Oh," Miles looked at her more closely and she blushed slightly under his gaze, "Forgive me, but is it normal for you to visit all of your passengers before a flight?"

She laughed prettily, "Hardly. But Nick said you were nervous about this flight. This will be your first helo ride, right?"

Lang was staring between the two of them with his mouth agape. His eyes were wide with incredulity, "This is my third underway. I've been flown out _dozens_ of times and I have _never_ had the pilot come find me like this!"

Lieutenant Andrews' sweet demeanor suddenly turned cold, "I'm an _aviator_. Pilots drive boats."

Lang was speechless. He stared at her and then glanced at Miles. Miles smiled and took a forkful of eggs, partly because he suddenly felt better and partly so he wouldn't have to talk.

"Well," Andrews picked up her fork turning her gaze to her plate, "Nick is a very good friend of mine, and he's very fond of you, Edgeworth, so I promise to take care of you."

Lang put his hands up, "Wait wait wait! Are you talking about Nick _Wright_?"

Andrews nodded at him while she chewed.

Lang turned his wolfish glare back to Miles, "Don't tell me _he's_ your pilot friend?"

"Aviator," Andrews corrected.

Miles put his head down and took another forkful of eggs. He shook his head at Lang and shrugged.

Lang frowned thoughtfully, "Because Cali said she'd talked to him yesterday and he agreed to do a duet with her. I thought you'd—"

Miles shook his head and then choked down his mouthful of eggs. He was starting to feel sick again. He paused and then met Lang's stare—wait, _duet_? With _Calisto Yew_?!

He frowned pointedly, "Where is Lieutenant Yew, anyway?"

"Maybe she's practicing for her duet," Lang grinned, "I can't believe you— _JAG_ —of all people—has won the attention of Phoenix Wright!"

Miles frowned, "I don't follow."

"Phoenix Wright is the most eligible bachelor on the ship!" Andrews said, "I guess we all know why he's stayed so single for so long."

"He's on the down low," Lang quipped, "Man, I can't believe I never noticed. This changes so many things..."

Miles was frowning at them, "I don't think he'd appreciate you discussing so animatedly his personal preferences."

"It's a modern Navy," Lang grinned, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Miles shook his head, "Perhaps the laws have changed. Policies have been updated. But tolerance is not something that comes about over night."

"What's with all the doom and gloom?"

Miles shook his head and finished off his breakfast as quickly as he could, "I have to meet with Senior and MAC."

He stood and glanced at Andrews, "It was nice to meet you. I'll see you in a few hours."

She smiled, "You too! Take care!"

Miles caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Andrews laughing at something Lang was saying as he walked out of the mess. He took the ladder to the O-3 level and stopped by his office to grab a steno pad and his organizer. LN3 greeted him with a nod, but Miles didn't stay to chat. He stepped briskly along the corridor and took the ladder down to the main deck and entered the 'precinct' casually.

MAC Gumshoe was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. Miles stood in the space for several moments before clearing his throat. Chief nearly fell out of his chair.

"Hey sir! How long were you standing there?"

Miles shook his head and smiled slightly, "Where's Senior Badd?"

"He's on his way," MAC said, "He got stopped in the mess on the way down."

Someone taped on the edge of the open hatch and both Miles and MAC turned to look at their recent companion. He was a gruff looking Warrant Officer wearing his NWUs and a smirk. He had his arms crossed and was glaring around at the two of them.

"Morning, Warrant," Chief said and grinned.

"Morning," the Warrant said, "I came in to see if there was anything we needed for this hearing."

"Warrant," Miles said, "They're going to want to review your investigation. But that shouldn't take too long, as I've taken the liberty to prepare binders for everyone on the board."

"I reckon, this is gonna be a little break for us then, eh, Pardner?" Warrant smiled at Miles.

"Uh, yes sir," Miles forced a smile in reply.

Warrant pushed into the small office and took a seat in the chair in front of MAC's desk. He looked around.

"Where's Senior Badd?"

"He's on his way, sir," MAC said.

Warrant nodded and leaned back in his seat. He took out a K-bar and started cleaning his nails. Miles startled a little. How is he allowed to have one of those? MAC didn't seem to care.

"Sooo," Warrant said without looking up from his nails, "Are you planning to pursue a court martial?"

"As much as I don't care to extend my time in Naples, I am prepared to move forward with this. After all, the evidence speaks for itself. Justice must be done."

A slow grin spread over the Warrant's face, "Wey-ell... Our Little JAG's got a little fire in him!"

Miles only frowned at him.

"Sorry I'm late!"

The voice was gruff and Miles turned to look directly at Senior Badd. The older man had a paper stick in his mouth and a large travel mug in his hand.

"Why are you all sitting around here looking like it's the end of the world?"

The three of them stared at the gruff Senior Chief. Eventually, Miles shook his head, "I think we have this in the bag, Senior. We just have these formalities to contend with."

Senior turned the stick in his mouth and then pulled it out, revealing an orange Tootsie Pop, "Well, kiddo, this is your first big case, isn't it?"

Miles smirked, "Actually, sir. I was practicing before I'd joined the Navy. I've managed a few successful prosecutions already."

Senior smiled and then popped his lollipop back into his mouth, "That's why you came so highly recommended."

Warrant laughed from his seat in the corner of the cramped space, "Senior, if I didn't know better, I'd reckon you were out for blood."

Senior cocked his head and turned his hard glare toward the Warrant, "What can I say, sir? There's no room in _my_ Navy for this kind of trouble."

Miles bit his lip, observing the conversation with sudden interest.

"You see," Senior continued, "We bring in people from all walks of life. We run them through boot camp or OCS or—" he glanced at Miles—"Or whatever. To show them how to live and work in this new world. But we can't change people. People are always going to go back to what they know."

MAC sat up rigidly in his chair and was staring up at the Senior Chief with shining eyes.

"If your sailor grows up surrounded by drugs, they will inevitably return to that world if we don't make an effort to help. This guy—he's a creep, there's no better way to describe it. I only regret that he's made it this far in the Navy."

MAC nodded solemnly, "We can't say just how many sailors he victimized."

Senior Badd slapped Miles on the shoulder startling him so bad he almost dropped his steno pad, "So, I hope you bring your experience into play and remove this _criminal_ from our ranks."

Warrant smiled at Miles and put his knife away, "No pressure, _JAG_."

Miles left the precinct feeling more confident about the hearing. He checked his watch; it was after ten. If he hurried, he might be able to catch a few minutes with him. Miles jogged up the ladders toward berthing. He'd gotten much better about climbing up and down without banging his legs.

He was nervous as he walked through the Air Wing's JO Jungle, seeing glaring colors from the squadron stickers proudly displayed on the doors. He got turned around a few times looking for Phoenix's door and was relieved when he finally found it.

He tired to hold back his eagerness as he put up his fist to knock on the metal door. He banged on it and then stepped back. There was a sock on the door knob. Miles frowned at it.

He waited. Nothing happened. After a few minutes, Miles decided to try once more before he left. He banged his fist on the door. There was a muffled shout and the small sounds of movement on the other side. Larry Butz poked his head out of the door.

"What?"

"Is Lieutenant Wright—?"

"Dude, no. He either went to the gym or he's flirting with the chicks in the helo det. Didn't you see the sock?"

Miles glared— _he's flirting with who_? He stared at the sock tied to the doorknob, "I didn't know what it meant."

Larry started to laugh at him and he accidently let go of the door and it opened wide enough for Miles to see he had no pants on. Miles turned around immediately.

"I'm just..." He started to say—bet decided his departure was more warranted. He'd just started down the second ladder when he saw Phoenix coming up. He was dressed in his PTU and soaked in sweat. Miles couldn't help but note how well he filled out that ridiculous yellow shirt.

"Oh hey," Phoenix smiled at him, "Where you looking for me?"

Phoenix paused to tug his ear-buds out of is ears and then jogged the last few steps so that they were standing together on the landing.

"Er, I'll be leaving here soon," Miles turned away from him not wanting to stare.

Phoenix made a face, "Let me guess, you ran into Larry?"

"Look, I didn't think you'd be so busy so—"

"Miles," Phoenix put his head down in an obvious attempt to meet his eye, "You don't have to be there until noon. Can you wait like ten minutes—max?"

Miles nodded before he'd even realized it and found his traitorous boots following after Phoenix Wright. He stayed and paced the corridor near Phoenix's state room while the other rushed to gather his things and then jogged across the passageway to the head.

He ran several upset and paranoid scenarios involving Lieutenant Andrews and Lieutenant Yew. Five-almost six years... So much could have happened in that time. Curse this situation, they were close enough on the ship but already it was apparent that they wouldn't have much time with each other without making their relationship too obvious. Miles paused in his pacing and stared at Phoenix's stateroom door, they weren't ready for that. They were still feeling this out.

He shook his head and started pacing again; it was too soon for that. They had their history, but the more time they spent together the more Miles was acutely aware of just how far apart they'd grown.

"Relax Miles," Miles startled and turned to face him. Phoenix was smiling at him with that smile that managed to be at once reassuring and utterly charming. He was only wearing a towel and some flip-flops, and for some reason the towel was too small.

"It isn't nice to stand there like a fish," Phoenix had left him where he was standing and went into his stateroom. Miles only then realized his mouth had been hanging open.

Following a short muffled argument Larry exited the stateroom looking rather guilty. He stood in the P-way with a look of uncertainty before looking directly at Miles.

"He can be a total douche sometimes," Larry jerked his finger toward the stateroom.

Miles smiled at him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I was—um... He's taking me to ATO," Miles said. _Good save!_

Larry scratched his head, "You still don't know where ATO is? Dude!"

Miles jumped a little when Larry slapped his shoulder and turned toward the nearest ladder well, "See you around, bro."

"Take care," Miles replied absently.

He barely had time to register Larry's departure when Phoenix exited his stateroom wearing his flight suit and still running a comb through his damp hair. Miles was taken aback, he'd never seen such perfectly coifed hair—ever—let alone on Phoenix Wright. Phoenix smiled and then turned to pull the door to his stateroom closed. The subtle movement was enough to send his hair springing back into its usual array of spikes.

"Ready?" Phoenix asked.

Miles looked at his watch, "I need to swing by my room to get my bag—just in case."

Phoenix held out his arm, "Lead the way."

Miles nodded and started walking toward the nearest ladder, "Why are you wearing your flight suit? I thought you didn't have to fly—"

"I'm in a flight status," Phoenix smiled, "Plus this is easier to throw on and I didn't want you to have to wait."

"Ah, I see," Miles opened the hatch and let Phoenix come through before dogging down behind them. He jogged down one deck with Phoenix on his heel.

"You know, it's almost worth it to go through all that training just to get to wear these," Phoenix chuckled, "It's like a man-onesie."

Miles didn't even bother to hide his laughter at that.

ATO was deserted when they entered except for the bored looking Air Crewman sitting in the back of the space behind a desk cluttered with ear protection, paperwork, and various tools and toys.

There were metal storage pods set up around the space that had thin plastic covered foam cushions installed so they could double as seating for waiting passengers. Miles set his bag on the floor and took a seat in the corner facing the television and Phoenix sat beside him.

"Are you guys flying out?" The Air Crewman asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Phoenix smiled at him, "He is."

"The COD leaves at thirteen hundred for NSA Souda," the Air Crewman said.

"I'm going to Naples," Miles added.

"Oh, okay," the disheveled Petty Officer flipped through his clipboard, "You're on the helo leaving at fourteen."

"Yes," Miles said.

"Y'all can hang out if you want to," he continued, "But the brief at 1200 is only for the COD. You don't need it for the helo. So if you want, just come back at like thirteen thirty."

Miles looked at Phoenix and Phoenix answered with a mischievous grin.

"We could get chow," Miles offered pragmatically.

Phoenix nodded, "Yeah, that's an option too, I guess."

"You're not hungry?"

"Man, I ran six miles today, I'm starving!"

They got up and headed toward the forward mess.

"How did you run six miles on a ship?" Miles frowned at him as they made thier way through the passages.

"Well, you see," Phoenix spoke animatedly and motioned with his hands, "They've got these magical devices that you can run on and you can just keep going but you stay in one place."

Miles made a face at him, "A treadmill?"

Phoenix shrugged, "You asked the question."

"I'm trying," Miles said.

"So I'm curious about your hearing in Naples," Phoenix said conversationally.

"I can't talk about it," Miles shot him a nervous glance, "The investigation is still considered on-going."

"Everybody on the ship knows that HM1 Hotti got sent up to DRB and XOI. Then he waived his right to captain's mast. So it's not far fetched to deduce that—"

"Does the whole ship really know that?" Miles was worried. He'd done his best to keep as much of the case close hold as he possibly could. _And yet_...

"Don't get upset about it," Phoenix shrugged, "The dude has been a creep since he got onboard. I mean, you can't tell me tweaking my nipples is part of a routine exam."

Miles glared, "Let's just—I can't believe—you really let him—! Don't talk about it!"

Phoenix laughed, "You'll get used to it. But when you have five thousand people living on top of each other in a giant can, there will be few secrets. So don't get upset if you hear things about me."

Miles stopped walking and stared at him, "What?"

Phoenix turned to look at him, "I'm asking you to trust me. Because I care about you."

"Okay," Miles crossed his arms.

"But stuff goes on in this ship that people perceive or interpret however they like and most of the time the truth of the matter is so twisted and broken that it's hard to know what really happened. People are bored. So people talk. And inevitably, these half-truths and rumors build into these fantastic stories that... Well, I need you to trust me. Because I won't lie to you."

Miles was staring at him again, "So... You let a First Class Petty Officer tweak your nipples?"

Phoenix stared at him incredulously, "That wasn't the point I was trying to make!"

Miles shook his head and continued toward the forward mess.

"You're not mad, are you?" Phoenix seemed genuinely worried that might be the case.

"No," Miles paused to look at him, "I'm disappointed in how terribly the system has failed. But I'm not mad at you."

"I don't want you to leave me angry," Phoenix's statement was so earnest Miles had to stop walking and look at him directly.

"Not like..." Phoenix's voice had lowered to a whisper, "Not like the last time."

Miles frowned at him, turning these statements in his head. _Not like last time?_ _You_ left _me_!

He sighed. Calm down. Now is not the time.

Miles forced a smile and hoped it didn't come off like a grimace, "I trust you, Wright. I assure you, I am not angry."

Phoenix held out his hand, "Promise you'll never leave while you're angry?"

Miles couldn't stop his face from falling into frowning, that really seems like a tall order. Miles clasped Phoenix's hand and swallowed.

"I promise."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading!**_

 _Oh boy! This thing has been stupid fun to write so far… I really hope you like it too_

 _K-bar- a large knife, similar to a bowie knife. It's popular among Navy Seals, but anyone can buy one._

 _Can anyone guess who that Warrant Officer is?_

 _Flight suits= man-onesie—my husband is in a flight status, he loves that thing..._

 _NSA – Naval Support Activity_

 _Souda – Referring to Souda Bay, on the Greek Island of Crete (I think I reference it in chapter 1 or 2, but their ship is currently in the Mediterranean—in case you were wondering. That's also where I stuck Borginia)_

 _DRB-Disciplinary Review Board_

 _XOI- Executive Officer's Inquiry_

 _Captain's Mast - Navy non-judicial punishment_


	10. Perception

**Chapter 10**

 **Perception**

* * *

Phoenix led him dutifully back to ATO. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach sending him off like this. Sure, helicopters have been around for decades. They were relatively safe, so there was no reason to be worried. Maybe it was just Edgeworth's anxiety rubbing off on him.

Adrian joined them in the ATO spaces with her personal life vest already strapped on and her helmet bag in hand. She nodded congenially at Miles and then held out a hand to Phoenix smiling. He gave her a fist bump and returned her smile.

"How are you, Nick?"

"Living the dream," Phoenix stretched where he was sitting on the bench beside Edgeworth. The other man was wound up so tight he could almost—no hell, he _could_ feel it. Phoenix tapped Edgeworth on the arm with his hand and nodded at Lieutenant Andrews.

Edgeworth paused and then looked up at her, "Miss Andrews, good to see you again."

"Please, Adrian. Are you ready, to go?"

"I am," Edgeworth said, "But I thought Warrant Marshall was coming with us?"

She frowned thoughtfully and then unzipped a pocket near her ankle and dug around for a bit before pulling out a piece of paper folded into fourths. She shook it open and squinted at the contents.

"Oh, you're right," She smiled as she put the pax list away, "I knew I had two passengers, but when I saw you two sitting here, I thought... But never mind. It's early yet."

"How long is the flight going to be?" Edgeworth stared up at her nervously.

"Maybe forty minutes," Adrian smiled at him but he wasn't even looking at her.

"So Adrian," Phoenix sat up and cocked his head lazily, "How long are you going to hang out in Naples?"

"Not long, I'll be back in the morning," she locked eyes with him, smiling again.

"Will you get me something? Since you're staying overnight?"

Phoenix glanced sidelong at Edgeworth who still didn't seem to be paying attention to them, "I want gummy sharks."

Adrian laughed, "Okay?"

"There's a NEX there, right? That's like a NEX staple."

"Sure, Nick," Adrian was twisting from side to side both hands together clasping the cloth handle of her helmet bag, "How many bags of gummy sharks do you want?"

"As many as you can get," Phoenix said, "Just let me know, I'll pay you back."

Edgeworth cleared his throat and crossed his arms; Phoenix looked at him and smiled.

"You can send me a care-package," Phoenix chuckled.

"I'll do no such thing," Edgeworth said.

"I've got you covered, Nick," Adrian interjected.

Phoenix saw Edgeworth's gaze sweep over her before he turned to stare at the ATO door. He wasn't—? No. You know me better than that? _Right?_

Warrant Marshall stepped into ATO wearing a grimace. He dropped his bag near Adrian's feet and went back to get his life vest and cranial from the Air Crewman.

Phoenix shot an inquisitive look at Edgeworth. He only shrugged in reply.

"Well?" Warrant joined them, his hands still busy adjusting his cranial. He glared at each of them in turn, stopping to stare at Phoenix.

"Who in _tarnation_ is this?"

"I'm Phoe—I'm just here to say goodbye," Phoenix smiled at him before turning to offer a hand to Adrian.

"Have a safe flight," they clasped hands, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take care, Nick," Adrian replied.

Phoenix turned to Edgeworth and held out a hand, Edgeworth only glared at the proffered hand.

"Lead the way, El-Tee," Marshall said to Adrian and swept his arm toward the ATO door and the P-way beyond. They were already walking out when Edgeworth stood to follow. Phoenix bounced up and blocked his exit.

"Don't forget about me," Phoenix clasped the edges of the open hatch, standing on the knee-knocker so that he was a good six inches taller and able to tower over Edgeworth.

Edgeworth was glaring up at him, "If you don't move, I'll lose them and I'll miss my flight."

"Are you mad at me?"

Edgeworth made a face and then he put his head down and smiled, "I will miss you, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix forced his most serious stare, "Good. I won't expect any less of you."

"Now Wright, I need you to—"

Phoenix leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was quick, little more than a peck on the lips. He paused to stare into those stormy gray eyes. Edgeworth's expression was impassive, but there was mirth in those eyes.

"Crash and burn!"

"Move," Edgeworth shoved him into the p-way and hurried to catch up Warrant and Adrian at the door that exited the ship. He glanced over his shoulder at Phoenix before exiting.

Phoenix hovered near ATO until the exterior hatch was dogged down. It was only a short TAD. Why did it seem so serious?

You've flown eleven missions in the last two weeks, he'll survive one helo ride to Naples. Phoenix sighed and shook his head at the vacant p-way before turning back into the squadron corridors.

He was still smiling as he jogged down the ladder to the hangar bay. He crossed the open space quickly and found his plane.

AM3 Fey and Airman Faraday were sitting on the deck under his plane flipping through several printed pages in white binders. They didn't see him approach.

"What's that?" Phoenix peered down at them. Faraday looked startled to see him, but AM3 grinned.

"Hey! We're trying to knock out this ship crap," she sat up and held out her binder so he could see, "Got any gouge?"

"Aw, come on, Maya," Phoenix stepped around them to find a clear spot and then joined them cross-legged on the deck, "You know I didn't have to do that."

"Well maybe you could find somebody who knows somebody who could get us the gouge on this crap?"

"Petty Officer Fey!"

The three of them looked up to see ASC coming toward them. He didn't look very happy and his creepy little moustache was hidden by the color of his face.

Phoenix hopped to his feet, "Afternoon Chief!"

"Lieutenant," Chief greeted him curtly, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Oh—ah..." Phoenix ran a hand through his hair, "I was just passing through. Thought I'd stop by and say hi."

"They're supposed to be working on their ESWS," Chief frowned for a moment at Fey and Faraday, "So-um, El-Tee, might I have a word?"

Phoenix couldn't help that his eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Yeah. Sure thing Chief."

Chief smiled his creepy smile and made that funny body twitch he did when he was excited. Chief grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the girls to a spot behind some tarp covered cargo crates that were chained to the deck. In the small nook formed by the cargo crates, a card table was set up and there were three metal folding chairs around it. Chief held out his arm.

"My office," he giggled. Phoenix glanced sidelong at Chief, absolutely bewildered.

He sat down with no small hint of reluctance and stared up at Chief.

"Is everything okay, Chief?"

"Oh yes, sir," Chief smiled and sat across the tiny card table from him, "I just wanted to chat—ask a few questions—you know since we're working together."

Phoenix frowned ignoring the alarm bells in his head telling him this was a weird request this far into deployment. If Chief was serious, why did he wait this long?

"You and Petty Officer Fey are awful chummy," Chief said.

Wow, way to cut to the chase!

"It's not—what are you implying Chief?"

Chief smiled and scrunched up his face and shoulders, "Oh sir, I didn't mean... I just noticed that you seem to visit often. Usually you only visit her."

Phoenix exhaled in surrender and frowned, "Well, we have a history."

"Oh?" Chief Armstrong leaned forward. The table was so small that the big Chief was suddenly close enough to touch him. Phoenix leaned away from the man instinctively.

"I really don't think it's any of your business Chief," Phoenix crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to stare pointedly at Chief, "If you have a problem—"

Chief sat up in exasperation and his arms shot up. His hands held up in fists at either side of his face, "Oh no! No, sir! I wasn't trying to say—"

"What do you need, Chief?" Phoenix's tone was grave; he'd had just about enough of this.

Chief stood, still wearing that look on his face, and wiggled—it might've been cute if he was a girl—but on the big Chief, it was just creepy.

"Don't think—we're friends, right?"

 _Hardly..._ Phoenix pushed his chair back until he was up against the crates behind him. He shook his head, "Chief, this is inappropriate."

"Mister Wright," Chief was suddenly serious, "I _know_ what inappropriate is. I think you know what I mean."

Phoenix glared up at him. What is this guy trying to do?

Chief shoved the table to the side and grabbed Phoenix's head and kissed him. Phoenix was startled at first and then shoved him away. He stood, hands on his hips, glaring. There weren't very many things that could anger Phoenix Wright.

" _That_ was inappropriate," Phoenix stepped away from Chief and glared sidelong at him. Chief looked worried and confused.

"I'd heard that you—"

"I'm an officer, Chief!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought—you know how it gets underway... I just..." Chief Armstrong had one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest and he was shaking his head. Panic evident on face. But Phoenix had no sympathy for him. That was just—!

He could feel his hands shaking. He must've been making a scary face because Chief Armstrong refused to look at him.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Chief blubbered, "I thought that since—you know... I thought maybe... I wasn't expecting anything serious... Just—"

Phoenix crossed his arms, hoping the gesture might help rein in his anger. He'd been very good about keeping this quiet. But somebody had said something. That was the only explanation.

Phoenix pointed an index finger at the big man authoritatively, "Don't say anything to anyone. I'm... I need to cool off. But this needs to be addressed."

"Yes sir," Armstrong said.

"If you try to escalate this, I'm going to your DIVO."

"Don't—I didn't—"

Phoenix shook his head again, "You basically assaulted me in the hangar bay. You know how serious this is?"

Chief stared at him, eyes glistening with tears.

"Look, I don't care what you think you know. I don't care what you heard about me. I did not invite this," Phoenix was pacing now.

"I don't know what came over me..." Chief sputtered.

Phoenix paused in his pacing and met the big chief's eyes. He shook his head grimly and started to walk away.

"Sir," Chief's tone was cajoling, his face simpering, "Sir, please don't—"

Phoenix stopped and turned to look at him. Yes it was serious. This was a career ender for most people. Still, he shouldn't have been so bold. But Phoenix Wright wasn't the vindictive type. Chief made the wrong assumptions. No sense ruining his life over this.

He shook his head and turned to leave again.

"Mister Wright!" Chief called after him.

"I need to cool off," Phoenix said without looking back. He almost felt like hitting the guy. But that wouldn't do anything to help the situation.

When he entered the ladder well Phoenix found it quiet and blessedly deserted. He took his time dogging the hatch behind him. Wow, _that_ just happened.

Phoenix ran his hands through his hair in frustration and then punched the bulkhead. What the hell? Really? This was his second underway and he'd never—maybe he was being too obvious with Edgeworth onboard? He punched the bulkhead again. What the hell was he thinking? I just can't help myself around him. Now I've inadvertently opened myself up to... this... Phoenix punched the bulkhead a third time, this one half-hearted and weak—the first two would probably leave his knuckles bruised anyway.

When he'd composed himself, Phoenix jogged up the ladder well and exited onto the main deck. A little walk might help calm him down further. He could think. Because perception was truth on the ship. And if Armstrong thought he could—well, who else was thinking that way about him?

As he walked briskly through the wide p-way, sailors parted to avoid him. The lunch crowd was still finishing up and the decks were crowded with people. But he wasn't paying attention to them. He wasn't paying attention to the crowds at the tables, or the line at the scullery, or the line for Starbucks. So naturally, he didn't notice that other guy approach him. He didn't notice anything until that big hand clasped his shoulder and turned him around.

Phoenix rounded on him, fists raised. The other guy cocked his head and shot him a lazy toothy grin. Where have I seen this joker—?

"Phoenix Wright?" the guy said.

Phoenix glared at him, "Who's asking?"

"Wow, touchy aren't you?" the let go of his shoulder and offered his hand in greeting, "I'm Lieutenant Shi-long Lang, OEM Division."

Phoenix hesitated and then took his hand, "Yeah, I'm Phoenix Wright."

Lang's grin widened and his heavy lidded eyes gave him a calm but predatory demeanor. Phoenix half expected him to huff and puff and blow his house down.

"It's nice to meet you, finally," Lang's grin didn't seem to waver, even when he spoke—which was kind of weird, "I mean, in person and not just as rivals on open mike night."

Phoenix relaxed suddenly, oh, yeah. It's one of those Ops guys they'd been competing with. He smiled at Lang.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," Phoenix said, "You guys are a tough act to follow."

Lang slapped his arm playfully, "Don't be so modest. I don't expect that from pilots."

"Aviator," Phoenix corrected.

"Ah, right," Lang said and Phoenix gave him a quizzical look, "I-um... I had been meaning to make your acquaintance—are you heading somewhere at the moment?"

Phoenix shrugged, "I'm just... Is something wrong?"

Lang was suddenly solemn, "Not really—not yet. I'm heading back down to my work-center, if you have a few minutes."

Phoenix nodded and followed Lang along the P-way.

"I'm not going to waste your time trying to be mysterious," Lang shot Phoenix a pointed look, "I'm roommates with Miles Edgeworth."

Phoenix frowned. Oh jeez... This is worse than I thought...

"I gather that you and he are good friends? With some amount of history?"

"Is that what he told you?" After his encounter with Chief, Phoenix couldn't help the note of resentment that entered his speech.

Lang paused and looked at Phoenix pointedly, "He's a rather laconic fellow when it comes to personal matters—you don't have to worry."

Phoenix forced a smile and tried to laugh it off, "I wasn't—"

"Come on," Lang continued walking, "I don't want to talk about this out here in the P-ways."

"Okay—?"

But Lang said nothing more and stepped up his pace. He led Phoenix to one of the ladder wells further aft and they jogged up one level before exiting into a dark, quiet p-way. Phoenix couldn't recall ever exploring this area.

What could this guy want? He was Edgeworth's roommate—did Edgeworth say anything to him? And what was with all the cloak and dagger?

Lang led him into a short trunk and into a small confined passage. The CWIS room was cramped, with a low ceiling and cables lain across the deck. There were two FCs in the back of the space playing Call of Duty.

"Men," Lang ordered, "Go take a walk for about thirty minutes."

Both of them started to move immediately, "Yes sir!"

Lang sat on the deck and motioned for Phoenix to sit.

"I'm good," Phoenix stared at him, "What did you need from me?"

"I'm not sure if this is the right thing to do," the gravity of Lang's voice made Phoenix change his mind and join him on the deck, "But I can't let it go on, and he's not going to do anything about it."

Phoenix felt a sinking feeling in his chest. I think I know where he's going with this.

"Edgeworth..." Lang paused as if trying to find the right approach, "He doesn't sleep well most nights."

Yep. Phoenix frowned knowingly and shook his head.

"I started smoking him," Lang said, "It works most of the time."

Phoenix chuckled, "How did you get him to agree to that?"

Lang shrugged, "I convinced him he was in danger of failing his PRT—I'm a little surprised at how easy it was to convince him—he's not in bad shape."

"He's kind of out of his element," Phoenix smiled at the thought.

"Well, anyway," Lang looked at him and crossed his arms, "Somebody has to convince him to get help."

Phoenix sighed. This guy was right. Why wouldn't Edgeworth tell _me_? Doesn't he trust _me_?

"How bad is it?"

Lang crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead, "When I first noticed—it was bad enough to scare me. He was shouting in his sleep. He hasn't had another that bad. Obviously, I can't just stay awake all the time to watch him—but I notice some mornings he wont wake up. When I started smoking him, he's gotten better. But it still happens at least once or twice a week."

Phoenix stared at his boots on the deck in front of him. He must've had a worried look on his face because Lang leaned over and clasped his shoulder.

"I hope I was right in telling you."

Phoenix nodded and bit his lip in contemplation, "Yes, thank you."

"He's an odd cat," Lang changed the tone of the conversation abruptly—he was probably uncomfortable too, "But he's not a bad guy for a _staff officer_. Most of the ones I've met are _unbearable_."

Phoenix laughed, "Yeah. I just hope the Navy doesn't change him."

Lang glanced wistfully at him, "So are you really going to sing a duet with Calisto Yew?"

Phoenix startled and stared at Lang, "Who's—oh, yeah. The coffee chick. Do you know her well?"

Lang only grinned in reply.

"I feel like she's stalking me," Phoenix said.

"Oh, she's harmless," Lang smiled thoughtfully, "You know how it gets underway..."

Phoenix must've frowned because Lang raised his eyebrows at him. He stared at his hands in his lap, "Yeah, so they say," he quipped noncommittally.

That was Chief's excuse too.

Lang banged his head against the bulkhead and slapped his forehead.

"God, we _need_ a port call!"

Phoenix looked up at him and smiled, "Actually, we have one coming up."

"There's always one coming up," Lang still didn't seem to believe him.

"Yeah, but I've got a reliable source that said twelve to fourteen days," Phoenix smiled and cocked his head, "So I'm sure we'll hear an announcement about it soon."

"Italy?"

"Borginia," Phoenix shrugged.

"What? Really?" Lang frowned, "Borginia always seemed kind of lame."

"Have you been?"

"No," Lang shook his head, "But I wanted to go somewhere familiar."

Phoenix laughed and stood to leave, "Don't you want to 'see the world'?"

"I thought we were a Global Force for Good?"

Phoenix laughed again and held out his hand, "Thanks for what you did. You're a good dude."

Lang reached up and shook his hand without standing, "Of course. I'm going to help where I can-I mean-I have to share a room with the guy. This is as much for my sake as it is for him," he paused and grinned, "Take care, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix nodded and climbed out of the CWIS spaces. It took him a few extra minutes of getting turned around in the unfamiliar corridors before he found a frame he was familiar with.

He had a lot to think about. Maybe it was good that Edgeworth had gone TAD.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! *crickets***_

 _I like this, even if you don't! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_

 _Pax list – Passenger List_

 _TAD- Traveling Around Drunk (Actually it's Temporarily Assigned Duty, we just kind of turn it into the former... Except I don't think Edgeworth will. Warrant, maybe, but not Edgeworth...)_

 _Gouge- In Navy jargon, this refers to any info you can give to help with a PQS or Application. Kind of like getting some inside info._

 _In the Navy, Officer-Enlisted relationships are VERY illegal._

 _PRT – Physical Readiness Test (the callisthenic and cardio portion of the PFA [Physical Fitness Assessment])_


	11. The Hearing

**Chapter 11**

 **The Hearing**

* * *

Lieutenant Andrews waved at them casually from the cockpit of her MH-53. She was unrecognizable in her full gear including a garishly decorated helmet. Miles was scared and hesitated before following Warrant Marshall in his dash onto the tarmac and away from the spinning rotors. They stood to the side and watched as Adrian turned off the rotor and it slowed to a stop. She had a clipboard out and one of the ground crew joined her for a few checks.

Miles wondered if they were waiting to say goodbye, but they never had the chance. A van pulled up with a smiling local driver and they were bidden to toss their luggage in the back and ushered inside. Miles saw Adrian wave as the van pulled away from the helo on the lonely tarmac.

They were dropped off in a back area of the terminal. A chain-link fence prevented them from entering the back of the terminal and they had to lug their luggage around the outside of the building. Miles let the Warrant lead the way, this was only his second time in Naples and nothing looked what he remembered from the first time.

The sun was setting as they sat outside of the terminal waiting for the duty driver to pick them up. Warrant was the laconic sort and Miles found him too intimidating to try and engage him in conversation. He stared at the sky and wished he'd brought a book.

"You at the Gateway?" Warrant startled him; Miles hadn't expected the man to speak to him.

He nodded.

"What time is the hearing tomorrow?"

"They start at zero-eight," Miles turned his head to face the gruff warrant, "But our case is going to be the fifth one. We're going to end up hanging out until they get to us."

Warrant shook his head, cursing under his breath.

Miles sighed and crossed his arms. What was taking so long?

It was dark by the time the duty van arrived. The driver seemed harried and Miles decided not to start in on him for showing up late. Warrant had another idea and ripped into the poor kid driving.

"We called in over three hours ago! I don't reckon the base is that far from the AV Unit? We got a Pow Wow at zero-eight, and we ain't had dinner, or checked into our rooms—"

"I'm sorry sir!" The kid whimpered.

"Who's yer LPO?"

"Sir, I didn't—you can talk to the OOD when we get to the Quarterdeck, sir."

"Warrant, it's not his fault," Miles said in aside to the Warrant.

"Lookee here, _JAG_. I ain't gonna stand for this. You let shit like this slide and next thing you know—anarchy! T'ain't no room for this in my Navy! This gross lack of discipline and integrity. It ain't right, and if y'all ain't gonna do nothin' 'bout it, it'll just keep going downhill."

Miles only nodded at the man and turned to watch Naples slide past his window. Wow, he was pretty serious about this. _Hard core._

It was pretty uneventful after that. They checked in with the OOD and headed over to the Gateway Inn. Their rooms were next to each other—that would make things easy. In the quiet sanctuary of the impersonal barracks room Miles sat on the bed and tried to organize his thoughts. He tugged off his blouse and stared at his boots.

It was odd. The strangeness of it hit him all of a sudden—he hadn't even realized until he was broadsided by the realization. It was quiet. Quiet and still.

The last two months of his life was spent immersed in the cacophony of life and sound of a living breathing ship. Even on so large a vessel, the subtle movement of water, the rattle of the catapult, the trill of the engines—all of it made up the massive organism he'd been living on. Now it was all gone. The silence was strange—almost suffocating. The stillness maddening. He threw himself back on the bed—it seemed ridiculously soft.

He laughed, remembering his first few days and how he'd never thought he'd survive. Now here he was pining for that world.

There was a knock on his door—even something so normal as a door to knock on seemed foreign. Miles sat up and stared at the door. It took a second knock to rouse him from the bed.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see the Warrant. After all, he didn't know anyone else in Naples.

"Sir?"

"Get dressed kid, I'm hungry," Warrant was glaring at him and Miles found the invitation to be rather uninviting.

"Two minutes, sir," Miles replied and started to close the door. Warrant stopped him with an outthrust arm.

"I'll be in the lobby."

Miles nodded and closed the door. He tugged off his tee-shirt and pulled his bag onto the bed and began digging through it for his civilian clothes. He hadn't brought much, hoping that their stay ended up being shorter rather than longer.

The case was pretty black and white; he doubted the Judge would want to drag this out. Petty Officer Hotti tended to come off as pretty unsavory anyway, and he was sure they had this in the bag. They might even make it back before the end of the week.

He dressed quickly, hating that he was rushed. He could feel the grime of travel—well, the Warrant probably wouldn't notice. They were only going out to get something to eat—it was late already, so Miles didn't expect the Warrant to want to drag the evening out anymore than necessary. At least he hoped that was the case.

Warrant only gave him a cursory glance and started out the door. Miles had to jog to catch him up.

"I reckon something has to be open," Warrant quipped as Miles fell into step beside him, "But probably not on base."

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets, "She said the flight was only going to be forty minutes."

Warrant chuckled, "They always say that."

It wasn't difficult to find the gate from where they were staying and they passed the bored looking sentries and made their way out into barnacle establishments that clung ubiquitously to every Navy base. Bars, fast food, clubs, car rentals, coffee shops...

"McDonald's," Warrant pointed and then led the way to the restaurant.

Miles frowned. He was wont to avoid McDonald's in the states and it seemed wrong to go to the other side of the world just to eat at one. But it was late, and he was hungry. He didn't care enough to argue with the Warrant.

There was no line and they were able to make their orders quickly. The restaurant was clean and decorated and their food was brought to them. This was actually rather nice for fast food.

"They do 'em better ever-where than in the States," Warrant said as he unwrapped his burger, "The menu's better too."

Miles tugged at the paper wrapping of his chicken sandwich. He must have been frowning because Warrant stopped and stared at him.

"'s wrong kid?" He asked.

Miles shook his head mutely.

"Are you one 'o them hippies?"

Miles shot him a startled look, "No, sir."

They ate in silence after that. At the end Miles sat poking disinterestedly at the strange fries that came with his meal, stifling a yawn here and there.

"I reckon HM1 is gonna get kicked out," Warrant spoke conversationally. They didn't know each other. Miles supposed the other man was just trying to be friendly.

He nodded, "This hearing is just to determine whether his case should go to trial or not. But whatever the judge decides, he's not long for the service."

"How long you been a JAG?"

"A couple of years," Miles met his eye, "But I've prosecuted for district and state courts. I have about four years experience all together."

Warrant Marshall smiled, "I figured you fer a tenderfoot—I reckon my baby brother is older than you."

Miles frowned at him, "Yes, well, I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to handle this case."

Warrant grinned at him, "No need ter get yer back up, kid. I ain't tryin' ter make you feel bad."

Miles stared at him for several moments, "How did you get tangled up in this?"

Warrant shrugged, "They needed an investigator, I ain't never done it 'afore. I reckoned it might be interestin'."

"Oh," Miles said and wiped his hands with a napkin.

"I reckon we may as well head back," Warrant stood and stretched, "It's late."

Miles didn't have to be asked twice.

He awoke before sunrise—well, he hadn't slept very well anyway and the lightening sky was as good an excuse as he could find to give up the fruitless endeavor that sleep had become. He'd set an alarm on his phone and he turned it off.

He got in the shower and let the water run over him. This was nice, they were always running out of hot water on the ship. This was his first big case for the Strike Group and in spite of the overwhelming belief that the case was as good as won—he couldn't help but be nervous. But that wasn't the only problem.

He was haunted. He'd been haunted since he was a boy—since he woke up in the hospital to learn that his father had been murdered. The clatter and rumble when the earthquake struck, the dim red light in that confined space. The falling of the car in that shaft. The scrape of metal. There was so much on that ship that reminded him of that night.

He'd been haunted for most of his life, but he'd never re-lived it so vividly. Still, he shouldn't be so weak. He should try and get over it. It was more than fifteen years ago, after all. What would Phoenix or Lang or Lieutenant Yew think if he let on that being on the ship brought on these terrors with a vengeance?

Lang keeps telling him that he'll fail his PT test. So Lang makes him do push-ups and run. But he knew what Lang was doing. The guy was trying to wear him out. It worked—most days. Would it carry him through this deployment?

Miles wiped his face with a hand and turned his head under the stream from the showerhead, eyes closed. At least—after this tour—if he decided to continue his service, he'd probably never have to see a ship again.

He took the extra time he had that morning to carefully iron his blues. It wouldn't do to look like a rumpled bag of crap—which seemed to happen too often on the ship. He put on the black slacks and tucked in the tails of the white shirt. His shoes were patent leather—some might call it "Hollywood" conceit, but Miles purchased them out of necessity. He and shoe polish didn't mix well.

It was still not quite zero seven when he was done getting dressed. He considered knocking on the Warrant's door, but decided to sit in the chair in front of the desk in his room and review the case.

* * *

 **August 17, 2016**

 **1025 Hours**

 **RLSO Naples**

 **CO's Conference Room**

* * *

"All rise," the MA2 announced as the Captain walked in.

He looked stern and maybe even a little worn out. Well, he'd been leading these proceedings since 0830. Miles stood next to Warrant Marshall and glanced over at HM1 Hotti. He was an older man with a childlike face despite the razor burn that colored his chin. Miles couldn't help thinking that there was something unsavory about that character. Hotti looked bored if not nonchalant.

"You may sit," the Captain turned to look at the others in the room, "Who's the recorder here?"

"Sir, I am," Miles raised his hand and then set a small digital recorder on the conference table. He clicked it on.

"This hearing has come to order," the Captain said, "The recorder shall state the date, time and place of this hearing."

"The date is August seventeenth, the time is currently ten thirty-two. This hearing is being held in the Region Legal Service Office, Europe, Africa and Southwest Asia HQ, in Naples," Miles looked solemn as he made his statement.

"Will those present at this hearing please state their names for the record? My name is Miles Edgeworth, I am the Strike Group Staff Judge Advocate. I will be the recorder for this hearing."

"I am Captain Hal Gitchew, I am a Staff Judge for RLSO Naples. I am presiding over this hearing."

"Commander Robert Hammond," Miles looked over at the commander with scrutiny, he'd seen him before, "I am the defense attorney for Petty Officer Hotti."

"Redd White, Esquire," he was a civilian in a garish purple suit and an even flashier grin, "I am co-council and legal advisor to Petty Officer Hotti."

"Warrant Officer Three, Jake Marshall, I am the investigating officer."

"Thank you," the Captain said, "This is an Article 32 hearing for Hospital Corpsman First Class Bud D. Hotti. HM1, please stand and raise your right hand."

HM1 glanced around the room shiftily before doing as he was asked.

"I do swear and affirm," the Captain spoke slowly so Hotti could follow along. Hotti repeated the words.

"To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"HM1, you stand before this hearing today, because you've been accused of Article 120 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Have you been made aware of the charges?"

"Yes sir," Hotti answered with complete composure.

"And prior to your detainment by the ship's Master-at-Arms, you were advised of your rights under Article 31 of the UCMJ?"

"Yes, sir," Hotti nodded solemnly.

"At this time, you may enter your plea for the record. HM1 Hotti, how do you plead?"

"Not Guilty," Hotti grinned at the judge. Miles shuddered. That guy was so creepy.

"Okay," the Captain shuffled through a few pages in the binder he was referencing, then he looked at Warrant Marshall, "Are you the Officer in charge of this investigation?"

"Yes, sir," Marshall looked at the Captain directly when he answered and then shot a sidelong glance at HM1.

"What are your findings?"

Marshall looked at Miles before clearing his throat to speak, "The government finds that there is sufficient evidence to prove that HM1 Hotti has violated Article 120 of the UCMJ."

"Very well," the Captain said, "HM1, the government will now present its case. You will have the opportunity to rebut, following their presentation."

Miles cleared his throat and glanced at the others seated around the conference table.

"Article 120 of the UCMJ defines thirty-six offenses described as rape, sexual assault or other sexual misconduct. Under article 120 of the UCMJ, the government would like to elaborate on the following definitions as they pertain to the allegations against Petty Officer Hotti. Article 120 of the UCMJ defines _Rape_ as the accused causing another person—of any age—to engage in the sex act by use of force, causing grievous bodily harm, the use of threats or causing fear, by rendering the other unconscious—whether by the administration of a drug, intoxicant or other similar substance or other means, and by the administration of a drug, intoxicant or other similar substance without knowledge or permission of the other so as to render the victim unable to appraise or control his or her conduct."

Miles paused and glanced around the table before continuing, "Article 120, defines _Aggravated Sexual Assault_ as the accused causing the victim to engage in the sex act, whether by threat of bodily harm, actual bodily harm, or upon a person who is substantially incapacitated so as to render them unable to appraise or control his or her conduct. The aforementioned article further defines _Wrongful Sexual Contact_ as the accused having sexual contact with the victim without the other's permission, and that the accused had no legal justification or lawful authorization for said contact."

"The allegations against the defendant further require that we define the following as well, _Indecent Acts_ —acts in which the accused engaged in and were indecent in nature; _Indecent Exposure_ —that the accused exposed his genitalia, anus or buttocks to another and such exposure was conducted in an indecent manner where others beyond the family or household may have reasonably been able to witness it."

Miles sighed audibly, this was very uncomfortable, and just talking about it made him feel dirty, "The Government of the United States has accused Hospital Corpsman First Class Bud D. Hotti of four counts of Rape; Six counts of Aggravated Sexual Assault, and nineteen counts of Indecent Acts, including twelve counts of indecent exposure."

"Well, Your Honor—do I call you ' _Your Honor'_?" Mister White stood at the table and waved his hands about animatedly.

Captain Gitchew glared at him, "You may address me as Captain or Sir."

"Okay, sure. Yes, sir," White sat back down and shuffled through his yellow legal pad, "So my client is abso-certain-lutely aware of the charges, but it has become clear through this _investigation_ —no offense, Mister Marshall—

" _Warrant_ Marshall."

"Yes, all right, Warrant Marshall—that what you've defined under the UCMJ, while they might have a minor slight-vague-o-semblance to whatever actions my client is alleged to have committed, these false inter-perceptions are in fact _biased_ and _unfair_ , and when one delves into the legal definitions of these actions, you will find that my client is not only innocent, but abso-mostly-lutely free of all and any semblance of guilt!"

Miles glanced at Warrant. He had his arms crossed and was staring daggers at Mister White.

"Captain," Warrant Marshall said without looking at the Captain, "I reckon I should present my case now—afore this _Belvidere_ gets a head of hisself."

"Go ahead, Warrant," the Captain shot a sidelong glare toward the civilian counsel.

Warrant stood and slid the binder in front of him. He picked up a much abused and well-worn steno pad and made a show of flipping through it. He cleared his throat.

"Twenty-nine," Marshall paused dramatically, "That's how many sailors have been victimized by HM1 Hotti. Now, this ain't a popularity contest, this ain't about sensitivities er misconceptions. I ain't here to question whether HM1 Hotti is liked by the crew or not. I was called in to investigate this matter, and I'm here to present the facts."

He paused and glared around the table with narrowed eyes before continuing, "On June 2nd, 2016, Petty Officer Hotti was counseled by his chain of command for the sexual harassment of Seaman Jilly Baxter, during a routine examination. Seaman Baxter is trying to strike into the Air Crew field and this was part of her flight physical."

"Now, hold on, here," White interjected, "How can you even consider that as evidence? It's basically 'he said she said'—"

"Can I finish?" Marshall said, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Mister White," Captain Gitchew glared at the man, "You will have your chance at rebuttal when the Government is done presenting its case."

Mister White sat down with a huff and Marshall smiled slightly at him, "As I was saying—before I was interrupted—Seaman Baxter was the first witness to come forward with regard to HM1's lewd behavior. HM1's chain of command hoped to settle this issue at the lowest level with a written counseling, but it was obvious that Seaman Baxter was thoroughly affected by HM1's actions and ultimately we had to send her to another ship. Following Seaman Baxter's transfer, Petty Officer Cadaverini and Ensign Elg came forward within the same week with complaints about HM1 Hotti. Both of them took their complaints to the legal department. It was at that time that HM1 was informed of his Article 31 rights and I was assigned to investigate. I reckon at first no one wanted to say anything—a course, HM1 was pretty good at his job and the Medical staff is short handed—so a course I was met with reluctance. But as the investigation progressed, I uncovered witness after witness who'd been harassed by HM1. I have here, a hundred and thirty-six sworn statements from HM1's victims. The twenty-nine sailors he victimized the worst have also provided sworn affidavits in regard to these actions. The UCMJ is very clear 'bout what constitutes lewd behavior and sexual acts. There ain't no room in this Navy for this kind of indecency and disrespect."

"Your case is still very vague-a-washy," White said, "If you have specific charges against my client we need to hear them!"

"A course," Marshall offered a small slow smile, "I have all of these statements right here. I reckoned since my JAG was kind enough to make copies for you and El Capitan, here, I wasn't going to drag this out."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Both of you… XD**_

 _Article 32-Basically the indictment phase of the trial_

 _Article 31-Pretty much the same as your Miranda rights—just Military_

 _Sorry this is a little dry, but I have to set the stage before we go into the trial ;P_

 _At least Phoenix might be having a little more fun!_


	12. Blurred Lines

**Chapter 12**

 **Blurred Lines**

* * *

 _"There's a raging fire in the sky tonight!"_

He looked up from the words scrolling on the screen and looked out over the audience. Sure, the song wasn't that popular, but it was one of his favorites. It was definitely better than _'Danger Zone'_.

" _I want to ride on the silver dove, far into the night,"_ he closed his eyes as he sang into the microphone.

" _Till I make you, take me, out on your_ _ **mighty wings**_ _! Make you, take me, out on your_ _ **mighty wings**_ _across the sky-iiiiiiyyyyyyyy!"_

The audience was nice—they always were. He'd gathered a bit of a following this deployment too. It was a guilty pleasure.

" _Take me on your mighty wings! Take me on your mighty wings_ _ **tonight!"**_

Phoenix found his gaze wandering away from the screen again. Looking for _him_.

" _With just a little luck; A little cold blue steel,"_ he sang.

But Miles was in Italy. Stop being so pathetic!

" _I cut the night like a razor blade,_ _ **Till I feel the way I want to feel!"**_

That's more like it!

" _There's a raging fire in my heart tonight!"_

Geez, that coffee lady was staring at him like a lion that just spotted a gazelle.

" _Growing higher and higher in my_ _ **soul**_ _!"_

It's weirdness like this that made karaoke night not fun.

" _There's a raging fire in the sky tonight! I want to ride on the silver dove, far into the night!"_

Or maybe it's because he was losing his taste for it. Maybe the thrill was gone.

" _Till I make you, take me, out on your mighty wings! Make you, take me—"_

Sure, he didn't know too many people that swore their undying fan-hood for Cheap Trick—but they weren't exactly hated either.

" _On your mighty wings across the skyyyyyyYYYYYYYYYY-ayyyyyy!"_

No, it wasn't the band. Even though _this was_ the single that killed the legendary Top Gun soundtrack.

" _Take me on your mighty wings! Take me on your mighty wings_ _ **tonight**_ _!"_

Not that anyone here really paid any attention to what was being sung. Phoenix repeated the last lines until the fade kicked in, then he dropped the microphone and gave a slight bow.

Someone turned the lights on in the forward mess. Phoenix blinked at the sudden brightness and looked around. He saw Lang and a couple of his Ops buddies approaching him. He raised his brows in confusion.

The other Air Wing guys got up and gathered around Phoenix. He met Lang's eye—what the heck was going on here?

"Phoenix Wright," Lang glared at him, "I enjoyed your _chicken wing_ song..."

"Um... Mighty—"

"I know what I said," Lang let a slow grin slide across his face, "I have a proposal for you and your men."

My men? What? Phoenix glanced once at the other Air Wing guys standing behind him.

"Um... Go ahead," Phoenix coaxed however reluctant he actually was to hear Lang's 'proposal'.

"There's a port visit in Borginia," Lang began, "After that we'll be underway in time for Labor Day."

Phoenix shrugged, "This ain't a cruise ship."

Lang chuckled and slapped a hand on Phoenix's shoulder, "MWR is sponsoring an Open Mike Night in the hanger bay."

"Oh, yeah," Phoenix said.

"I think we should join forces," Lang cocked his head and grinned wolfishly at him, "No one would stand a chance."

"Yeah," Phoenix frowned, "But we have like—thirty or so guys... That means the prize money will be like three dollars per person."

"You know it's not about the money," Lang waggled a finger at him, "It's about winning. It's about getting seen. Lang Zhi says the best wolf howls the loudest, but the pack that howls together is the loudest of all."

Phoenix laughed and crossed his arms, "Okay... What did you have in mind?"

" _Blurred Lines_ ," Lang paused dramatically, "Flight suits and coveralls."

Phoenix tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Come on! Haven't you always wanted to twerk in front of the whole ship? Think of the impact! The notoriety! This is the closest to rock-stardom that you'll ever achieve in the Navy!"

"Well," Phoenix pointed at Lang, "I _am_ an Aviator. I kind of have that going for me already."

Lang made a face at him and shook his head disdainfully, "Um... yes... Well, to each his own, I suppose... So will you guys do it or not?"

Phoenix showed him a large cocky grin, "Sure. You had me at _twerk_. We'll be in touch."

They shook hands. Phoenix took the opportunity to walk out of the forward mess. Maybe that coffee chick wouldn't remember the duet thing. Fortunately, the Ops guys and the Air Wing guys were still clustered in a confused gathering near the karaoke machine, and Phoenix managed to get way without anyone noticing.

He made his way back to berthing dragging a hand along the wall in the dim red lighting. He frowned when he got to his stateroom door and found Larry's much-abused sock wrapped around the door knob. He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily before turning back around.

He'd left his book in his room too. He wandered aimlessly for a while until somehow, he found himself in the hangar bay. The lights were still on—it was early yet—and there was a group of about twenty people doing a jump-rope clinic in the open space near the gym.

The maze of airplanes bolted silently to the deck on the other side of the hangar was already dark though—and in light of his recent encounter with Chief Armstrong, Phoenix was reluctant to go there alone.

He stood there in the middle of the hangar bay with nowhere to go, frowning at the dimness around him in the rapidly emptying space. This was his second underway, and he'd never felt so lost. This was strange—so unlike him.

"Wright! Is that you?"

Phoenix looked up, at once puzzled and then relieved to see Commander Armando.

"Evening, sir," Phoenix smiled at him.

"What are you loitering around here for?"

"I could ask you the same question."

The Commander Armando frowned and the motioned with the travel mug he had in one hand, "The cigar lamp is on, if you care to join me."

Phoenix didn't smoke, and he wasn't a fan of cigars—but he had nothing better to do, and a chat with his mentor just might be what he needed.

"Yeah, sure."

They walked in silence toward the khaki smoke deck. As they were walking in, several chiefs stepped out and nodded at the two of them as they departed in the opposite direction. Outside it was almost full night and everything stood in stark black silhouette against the gray ocean and the darkening sky.

The smoke deck was blessedly deserted, though the recent departure of the chiefs was left obvious in the telltale tendrils of smoke coming from the large ammo can used as a butt kit. The faint smell of stale smoke lingered in the air, he didn't care for it, but it wasn't unbearable.

The Commander was leaning on the rail—exactly like they were told not to do—cutting one end of his cigar and then lighting it with a Zippo that had the ship's logo on it. He glanced at Phoenix and then reached into his pocket to retrieve another cigar and held it out to Phoenix. Phoenix held up a hand and shook his head.

"Stop being a pussy," Armando made a show of pulling the cigar away and offering it again.

"Yeah, I don't—" he knew it was a futile argument even before he finished his sentence and grudgingly took the proffered cigar, "Um... Thanks."

"So what's eating you Phoenix Wright?" Commander Armando didn't look at him when he spoke, choosing instead to stare out at the sea as he puffed away at his cigar.

Phoenix stared at the cigar in his hands, turning it in his grip, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just—I'm kind of locked out of my room, right now."

Commander Armando chuckled and then puffed away on his cigar for a moment, letting the silence fill the air between them. He paused and took a drought from his coffee mug.

"How's Maya doing?"

Phoenix smiled, "She's doing well. They got her working on her ESWS—if she can get it done before New Years, she'll be a shoe-in for second-class."

The Commander turned and looked over his shoulder at Phoenix—he smiled a little, "She looking for gouge?"

"Actually, yeah."

"Alright, I'll send someone down to see her."

Phoenix's eyebrows jerked up in surprise, "Thanks for that."

"It's for her, not for you," Armando paused and puffed at his cigar.

"Still, I'm glad you're looking out for her too," Phoenix joined his mentor at the railing. He stared out at the churning sea and frowned.

"Of course," Armando let his words hang. He didn't need to say it out loud—especially when the ship seemed to have so many ears listening in, "But honestly, I want to hear about you. You seem less... Cheerful..."

"Oh I'm..." Phoenix toyed with the unlit cigar in his hands, "It's been a rough month—you know."

Armando nodded, "I'm aware. A lot of you went over your hours... But we'll get a break here, soon."

"I'm just tired."

"Now that's a little trite..."

Phoenix frowned at the dark sky and then his gaze slid downward, watching the glow from the bioluminescent algae floating on the ocean surface.

"Something happened," Phoenix met the Commander's eye—though it was almost too dark to make out his face, "I'm not sure what to do—or if I should do something at this point. I'm hoping it just fades into the background."

"Wright," Commander Armando turned away from the railing and flicked the ash from his cigar out toward the ocean, "Did somebody threaten you?"

Phoenix nodded, "About Maya."

"Who was it?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I think I've got it under control."

The Commander paused in contemplation and drummed his fingers on the rail, "It isn't... You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know that. You know that. But you know how things get around here."

The Commander nodded, "When you get your up chit, you'll be busy again. This will blow over. But I'd keep your distance from her—for now."

"Well," Phoenix put his hands on his hip, "I should say something to her—I don't want her to think that—"

"Send her an e-mail," The Commander held out a hand to Phoenix and waggled his fingers beckoningly. Phoenix answered with a quizzical look.

"If you're not going to smoke it, don't let it go to waste."

Phoenix smiled and handed the Commander the cigar, "I'm going to see if my room is open now."

"It's hard when the lines are blurred like this."

Phoenix smiled and then turned to leave, "Good night, sir."

The Hangar was dark and deserted when he left the smoke deck. Only the dim red lights near the ladders gave any indication of where things were. Phoenix jogged past the dark tangle of planes and covered cargo crates and crossed the open space of the hangar, making a beeline for the ladder that led up to his berthing.

"Lieutenant Wright," he stopped in his tracks feeling a sudden prickle of unease settle on the back of his neck. He hesitated for only a moment before turning to the speaker.

"Chief," Phoenix forced a smile, startled but not surprised to see Chief Armstrong.

"It's been a couple days," Chief said casually, "I know you're not flying right now."

"Oh, I just—you know I have to take care of Navy stuff," Phoenix shoved his hands in his pockets, "Man, I'm tired."

"Are you?" Chief Armstrong stepped toward him.

"Yeah—long day," Phoenix absently ran a hand through his spikes, "You? Are you headed to your berthing?"

Phoenix didn't care either way—but it was conversation, and hopefully that was enough to distract Armstrong. Chief jerked his neck and stuck out his chest coquettishly, Phoenix frowned at him. Chief took another step toward him, decidedly too close for comfort.

"Unless you'd like to find somewhere quiet, where we can... Talk..."

"Uh, no," Phoenix stepped away from him, "No. I don't think that's a good idea."

"What are your plans for liberty?"

"That's really none of your business _Chief_."

Chief Armstrong dropped his act and glared at him, "You can make this easy, or you can make this hard."

Phoenix shook his head and crossed his arms, "I'm not interested, Chief. You come up to me again, and I'm going to your DIVO."

"Then I'll go to JAG," Armstrong pursed his lips and raised his chin defiantly.

Phoenix bit his lip. What if this guy _did_ go to JAG? What if Miles _took this the wrong way?_

"That's not going to work," Phoenix straightened his posture and glared defiantly at the burly chief, "Because you don't have all the facts. So stop trying to threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you, sir," Chief waved an index finger at him, "You'll come around. If you know what's good for you."

They glared at each other for several moments before Chief Armstrong brushed past him and walked toward one of the ladder wells. Phoenix waited until he was out of earshot before exhaling with relief. Only then did he realize he'd been holding his breath.

By the time he returned to his berthing the lights were out and the passageways were hushed and still in the dim red light. The sock was still on the door, but he pushed in anyway. Larry was snoring in his rack.

Phoenix shook his head and tugged off enough of his uniform so he could sleep comfortably. But his mind was full and sleep eluded him for what seemed like hours.

He startled awake to the sound of Larry bustling around the cramped stateroom. He was muttering and cursing under his breath.

"Larry? What's wrong?"

"Oh hey, Nick, did I wake you up?"

Phoenix sat up in reply and stared at Larry. He'd completely emptied his coffin locker, all of the contents of their shared desk and all of the shared storage and had everything piled haphazardly around the room. Phoenix was basically trapped in his rack.

"Larry, what the hell?"

"I can't find it!"

Phoenix swept his gaze across the stateroom, his frown deepening as he took it in, "What are you looking for?"

"That little picture," Larry was distraught and his voice quavered in barely restrained emotion, "You know, it's round and closes like a clam shell? On one side is a picture of Kiyance and on the other side is her and her dog?"

Phoenix rolled his eyes, yeah of course he remembered... Larry only shoved it in his face every day for the first month of deployment. "Larry, do you think you could put some of this stuff away? I need to use the head."

Phoenix managed to get out of the room, clean and dressed, with his paperback in hand. Good thing they were grounded for the time being. Larry was a hot mess right now.

Phoenix made his way toward the main deck around lunch time and slunk around the enlisted galleys, surreptitiously stalking up and down the passageways. It took him over an hour to find her.

"Petty Officer Fey," he snapped at her in as commanding a tone as he could muster.

She turned to look at him, her look of wide-eyed concern fading into glee at the sight of him, "El-Tee! Um, what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you—but not in the hangar bay," he jerked his head, motioning her to follow.

She frowned, "But it's lunchtime... Is everything okay? You look so serious!"

"This will only take a few minutes," Phoenix stepped away from the crowd in line for food at the galley and looked back to make sure Maya was following him. She left her place in line reluctantly and followed him over toward the vending machines, where it was less crowded.

"Your Chief is snooping around," Phoenix planted his hands on his hips and glared down at her—to passersby it would look like any officer counseling any sailor, "To be safe, I won't be coming around anymore."

"But Nick!" She protested, tears already filling her eyes, "I don't want you to—"

"Listen, Maya," he leaned in toward her and held up a fist, "It's way serious. I don't think I can count on Chief Armstrong to do the right thing. I don't want something to happen. So we'll just have to lay low for a while."

"But, we never..."

"I know," Phoenix shook his head and glanced over his shoulder, "But I know what this guy is up to—I'm hoping he'll get his... fix... when we pull in to port. But for now, I'll see you on the flight deck and that's it."

"What about—we have a legit reason to—"

"It doesn't matter," Phoenix frowned, "Because perception is truth. If things don't look the way they should, they're going to do something about it. I don't want them to split us up."

Maya slumped dejectedly against the Pepsi machine, "This really sucks."

"It won't be forever," Phoenix bumped her chin, "I got something to cheer you up in the meantime."

He dug in his cargo pocket and pulled out three bags of gummy sharks, "Gummy Sharks."

Her usual reaction was subdued by her disappointment, but she forced a smile and took the candy from him.

"I'm going to talk to AS1," Maya said, "Chief can't go around trying to—"

"Maya, let's just keep this quiet," Phoenix stepped back from her, "I have to go—we've been talking here too long as it is."

"Wait, Nick!"

It hurt to hear the beckoning in her voice, but he forced himself not to react, not to look back.

"Lieutenant Wright!"

Commander Armando was right, it was so hard when the lines were blurred.

Phoenix made it back to his stateroom relieved that it was mostly in order after Larry's frantic search for his keepsake. Isolated on the wide ocean, sometimes the smallest things seemed so important.

Phoenix changed into his PT gear and grabbed his phone—which really only served as a glorified MP3 player and alarm clock—and his ear buds and made his way toward the sea-side gym. He had a lot of tension to work off. Sitting around, not flying, and not even having Edgeworth around to distract him—it weighed heavily on him.

He'd just finished a twenty-minute stint on the rower to warm up when he saw Chief Armstrong heading toward him. Phoenix turned around, hoping Chief hadn't noticed that he'd spotted him. He moved toward the free weights, looking around furtively for a buddy.

There was Doug Swallow, using the chest press—thank freaking goodness! Phoenix walked up to him and hovered near the machine.

"Hey, Doug!" Phoenix said aloud.

Doug startled and the weights slammed down hard as he let go of the pads, still, Doug managed to smile at him, "Oh hi!"

"You almost done?"

"No I just got here," Doug smiled, "Unless you have something better to do?"

Phoenix shook his head absently, staring sidelong at Chief while he spoke with Doug.

"Do you want a spotter?"

"For circuit training?"

"No, um... I thought maybe..."

"Are you okay?"

Phoenix paused and met Doug's eye with a frown and his brow furrowed in confusion, "Yeah, why?"

"You keep looking around—all distracted like," Doug sighed and started another set.

"Oh, I wasn't..." Phoenix forced a smile.

He stood there awkwardly while Doug finished his set, trying very hard not to make eye contact with Chief.

"Do you want a go?" Doug was staring at him and wiping the bench and the pads with a towel. Phoenix startled for a moment.

"Uh... Sure," he sat on the bench and reached over to move the pin that held the weights.

"Oh, hi Chief!" He heard Doug say and he froze—awkward and twisted though his position was. He felt a tremor run through his shoulders and along his neck and up his hairline.

"Lieutenant Swallow," Chief Armstrong sounded way too chipper, "And Lieutenant Wright—always a pleasure!"

Phoenix sat up and glared at him, "Hey Chief, we're uh... Kind of busy..."

Armstrong put his hands to his mouth and wiggled his hips—Phoenix had to turn away before he got sick.

"Let me get out of your way, boys!" Chief said and wiggled again.

Phoenix coughed.

"That dude is so weird," Doug said.

Phoenix only shot him a glare and started his set.

 _If only that was the end of it_ , he thought.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for Reading! Everybody loves Phoenix—he's too awesome!**_

 _Now you know where the title came from.._

 _ **Mighty Wings as performed by Cheap Trick is written by Harold Faltermeyer and Mark Spiro.**_

 _I realize also that Mighty Wings may refer to McDonald's failed attempt at selling chicken wings... (so Lang had to point that out)_

 _LOL... There's not a whole lot to do when you aren't working... So yeah, we basically get paid to work out..._

 _I hope this makes up for the last chapter being so dry..._


	13. Rumor Has It

**Chapter 13**

 **Rumor Has It**

* * *

 **August 19, 2016**

 **1619 Hours**

 **RLSO Naples**

 **CO's Conference Room**

* * *

Miles sighed heavily and tapped his pen on the table while HM1 finished his statement. He was tired and hungry and this had gone on far too long. HM1 sat back down and Commander Hammond turned to meet Miles' glare. He had a slight smile on his face—cocky, weren't they?

Miles stood and flipped through the binder in front of him, "The Government would like to rebut, Captain."

Captain Gitchew looked pretty irritated as well, but he acknowledged Miles' request with a nod and bade him continue with a flip of his hand.

"HM1 Hotti," Miles leveled his glare at the child-like face of the defendant, "Would you agree that, as a United States Sailor that you are subject to the UCMJ?"

"Yes, sir."

Miles noted that despite Hotti's confident answer, Commander Hammond and Mister White were shifting nervously in their seats. He almost smiled—almost, but didn't.

"And do you agree, Petty Officer, that whether or not you perceive your actions to fit within the definitions set forth in the UCMJ, that if a reasonable person might perceive your actions as violating said definitions, that you might be found guilty of these crimes?"

"Yes—"

"Objection, Captain," Mister White stood, "The government is trying to manipiyoo-force-yulate my client into saying he is guilty—that's unnecessary."

"Captain," Miles said coolly, "I have no such intention. I just want HM1 Hotti—for the record—to show an understanding of these proceedings and allow that he has a solid comprehension of the policies and regulations that govern our actions here today."

"Overruled, HM1, answer the question—"

"He already did," Commander Hammond said.

"Then what exactly are you objecting to, Mister White?"

"I don't think this line of questioning is fair."

"Okay," Captain Gitchew slapped the table with his hand, "Noted, Mister White. Mister Edgeworth, you may continue."

"Thank you, Captain," Miles smoothed his tie and then flipped a page in the binder, "Do you believe, Petty Officer Hotti, that every member of the Navy is entitled to the same rights and respect afforded them by the Constitution of the United States of America?"

"Yes, si—"

"Objection!" Mister White stood and put his hands on his hips, "What is he getting at? What are you getting at, Lieutenant?!"

Miles paused; slightly bewildered at Mister White's reaction, then he crossed his arms and smirked.

"Captain, it seems that Petty Officer Hotti's legal counsel is confused about the documents that govern our service..."

"Wrap it up Edgeworth!" Captain Gitchew replied. Miles almost blushed, but he put his head down and brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Yes, sir," Miles flipped a page in the binder, "Yes, so, Mister White, Captain," He glanced at each of them in turn, "My point—my point is, that HM1 Hotti, is subject to the laws set forth under the UCMJ, whether or not they line up with civilian law. This is a military proceeding, and while HM1 is entitled to argue his case before Officers and his peers at a Court Martial, he is in clear violation of the UCMJ and no amount of bending the rules or arguing one detail or another is going to lessen the charges laid before him."

The Captain nodded, "Good, I don't need to hear anymore. You guys step out and give me a few minutes to go over the evidence. MA2 will call you back in."

Miles reached over and picked up the recorder, "The time is sixteen thirty-three. The board is stopped for deliberations."

Everyone stood, save for the Captain, and MA2 held the door open for them to exit. They stood in the passage outside the door; Mister White was glaring at them. Hotti looked confused and Hammond bored. Marshall had his arms crossed and leaned sullenly against the wall.

"You reckon he's gonna take his time?" Marshall asked him.

"I'm hoping we'd made his decision relatively easy," Miles replied.

"Do you mind?" Mister White rounded on them, spittle flying from his mouth in the passion of his speech, "Petty Officer Hotti is standing right here! These next few minutes could be the last few minutes of freedom for him. You don't need to discuss this in front of him!"

Miles frowned at the man and crossed his arms. Marshall was glaring hard at White. HM1 didn't look bothered about anything. He stood calm and collected, with a slight smile on his face. If he were one to jump to conclusions, Miles would guess that Hotti didn't care what happened to him—he seemed oblivious.

In the end, they were called back in less than twenty minutes later. Miles caught MA2 stifling a yawn as they filed back into the conference room—well he was feeling it too. They'd paused for lunch at just after 1200, when the Defense had finished presenting its case. They were back at 1330 and the Government began their rebuttal. It was almost 1700, now.

"HM1 Hotti," Captain Gitchew began as soon as everyone had entered the room. He seemed eager to wrap this up as well, "Please stand. The Government finds reasonable evidence to indicate that you might have committed the charges brought up in this hearing. However, we believe a court martial to be a drawn-out and unnecessary delay. I hereby recommend you, HM1 Hotti, for administrative separation from active Naval Service, and that your service be categorized as Other Than Honorable. Pending your separation from Naval Service, you are subject to additional charges under the UCMJ. You are also subject to Civilian Criminal and Civil charges, should any of these victims decide to pursue them. You will be held in custody by NCIS until you are transferred to the Navy Consolidated Brig in Chesapeake. You have the right to appeal the decision of this hearing."

"Wait wait wait," Mister White stood holding his palms out to the Captain, "So he's not even going to get a trial—"

"That is the decision of this hearing Mister White, you can appeal to the Admiral, if you'd like—but for now, get ready to take this to Virginia."

Miles stood up and Warrant Marshall followed his lead. Captain Gitchew offered a hand to each of them in turn.

"Thank you gentlemen," the Captain smiled wearily and shook their hands before turning to depart the room. Miles and the Warrant waited a few minutes, respectfully before following him out.

As they walked out, Miles caught MA2 in his periphery cuffing HM1. He shook his head slightly. It took longer than he'd expected, but at least things turned out the way he felt they should.

They decided it would be faster to walk back to their billeting rather than calling and waiting for the duty driver. At least they could cut between buildings in a beeline to the Gateway Inn.

"I need beer," Warrant said as they entered the lobby, "and dinner."

Miles smiled to himself, Warrant certainly had the right idea.

The next morning found them waiting at the AV Unit well before sunrise. Warrant was laid out on the terminal seats fast asleep while Miles stared nervously out of the window at the chain link fence separating them from the flightline. They still weren't sure if there'd be room on the COD for them. They might end up doing a couple of days like this—just waiting for a flight.

"Are you Warrant Marshall?" Miles startled and turned toward the speaker. He was a lank man wearing a flight suit and life preserver. He had a two-way radio in his hand and was staring straight at Miles.

"Er, no," Miles said and pointed at Warrant laid out on over several seats, "That's Warrant Marshall. I'm Edgeworth."

"Oh, right. You're also headed back to the carrier?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"Well, y'all are in luck then, because you two are our only passengers. We've just started loading her up, so I'll be by in about an hour."

Miles forced a smile at the Aircrewman and nodded. He sighed as the other man walked away. _Hurry up and wait..._

This having been his second COD flight, Miles found far less trepidations to occupy himself with and caught a very satisfying nap on the flight over. He followed Warrant onto the flightdeck when the COD had landed and found the catwalk into the ship far less frightening than he had the first time—maybe he was getting used to this Navy thing after all.

Warrant nodded before leaving Miles alone in ATO with the bored looking Aircrewman.

"How was your trip, Sir?" She asked—probably out of some inherent need to be speaking. Miles shrugged at her.

"Uneventful," he replied after several moments—he didn't want to seem rude.

Miles shouldered his bag and made his way out of ATO and found himself in squadron spaces. The corridors were crowded with aviators in flightsuits, prepping for a flight. Miles nearly dropped his bag when one of them grabbed him by the shoulders and all but shoved him into the bulkhead.

"Miles! You're back!"

He almost didn't recognize Phoenix Wright with his helmet and sunglasses. He chuckled and pushed him back a step so he could look at him, "It seems I've arrived just in the nick."

"Yeah," Phoenix pulled his sunglasses off, "I can't chat—I've got a flight. But I missed you—lots!"

Miles couldn't help but smile, "Be safe, then. I'll be waiting for your return."

"Yeah, like you've got any other choice, JAG," Phoenix smirked and gave him one last slap on the shoulder before joining the others headed toward the flightdeck. He paused and glanced once more at Miles before exiting the ship.

He'd been staring and Miles nearly jumped when he'd realized that. He tucked his head and readjusted his bag before heading toward berthing. It wouldn't do so stand around idly while waiting for Phoenix to land. He'd be gone for several hours.

The corridors were deserted as he made his way to the JO Jungle, it was early yet for lunch, and it was a regular working day. So he thought nothing of the quiet or the lack of personnel and he wasn't expecting to see Lang when he entered his stateroom.

But there he was. Lieutenant Shi-long Lang, naked as a baby, except for the earbuds he had in running from the music player sitting on his rack. Lang turned to him and grinned, moving and bobbing to whatever song was playing.

Lang pointed at him, " _Oh my God, look at that face! You look like my next mistake..._ "

Miles dropped his bag on the deck and turned to walk out. Lang grabbed his arm and tugged him back into the stateroom, "Hey Miles! Welcome back!"

"Hello Lang—please let me—"

"Did you miss me?" Lang shot him his wild wolfish grin and then pinned him against the bulkhead, "I missed you, buddy. How was Naples?"

"Let... Me... Go..." Miles squirmed against the bulkhead until he managed to free himself from Lang's hold, "I'll come back. You seem like you need a few minutes to... er... "

Lang was already sliding into his skivvies, " _Got a long list of ex-lovers... They'll tell you I'm insane..._ Wait wait... Miles, don't go, I have something to tell you..."

Miles was trying very hard to focus on the doorknob, "I'm sure it can wait a couple minutes for you to—"

"Don't open the door," Suddenly, Lang was there, sliding himself between Miles and the door, "I need to tell you something—and I don't think we need anyone listening in. If you catch my drift..."

Miles frowned at him.

"I talked to your boyfriend while you were gone," Miles' frown deepened at Lang's words and the casual tone with which he spoke, "He is so fine... Did I tell you that? He is one handsome mutha—"

"I don't care about whatever gossip you think—"

"Hey, I know you just got back—you're probably all sappy and missing him right now and you can't wait to go running into his arms—"

"I ran into him just now—he's flying," Miles put out a hand and pushed Lang away from him, "I don't care—"

"He's got an enlisted girlfriend," Lang stepped back and crossed his arms head cocked as he studied Miles' reaction.

Miles smiled, "That's ridiculous. Why would he risk everything to mess around with an enlisted sailor—not when he can get practically anyone on this ship?"

"I know, right?" Lang leaned in conspiratorially, "That's what I thought, when I found out. So I did a little investigating of my own—because I like you Miles, and I don't want to see you get hurt. You've got enough baggage you're lugging around without—"

"Whatever rumors you've heard keep them to yourself. I'm not going to let ridiculous gossip influence—"

"But it's true!"

"Look, I'm the JAG!"

"So?"

"For the entire Strike Group!"

"And?"

"And what you're describing is a classic case of fraternization. If it were true I'd already know about it—for one! Two—we have history. No one knows Phoenix Wright like I—"

"Ah... But do you _really_ know Phoenix Wright? People change, you know. Especially, out here—doing what he does... I'd say that might change a man—don't you?"

Miles shook his head and glared hard at him, "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm doing this because I like you. I don't want to see you get hurt over—"

"You don't know. You don't know me and you don't know him..."

Lang shot him a skeptical, knowing look and then went back to getting dressed, " _So it's gonna be forever... Or it's gonna go down in flames... You can tell me when it's over... if the high was worth the pain..."_

"Stop singing that song too..." Miles crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

"Miles, I don't like rumors... It can ruin a deployment. But I don't think it's just a rumor."

"I trust him enough to ask him about it," Miles pointed at him, "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Who said I was worried?" Lang tugged a blue tee shirt over his head and then grinned at Miles, "I'm not worried. You're the one that should be worried. _'Cause you know I like the players..._ "

Miles shook his head.

" _And you like the game!"_

The two of them joined Lieutenant Yew in the Wardroom for lunch. She seemed surprised—however pleasantly so—to see Miles, but that quickly turned to worry and concern over some issue that Miles had no idea about.

He kept quiet and thoughtful while Lang tried to comfort Yew with a few well-planned jokes and his seemingly endless supply of shipboard gossip. Perhaps he had learned something about Phoenix—no. Don't get dragged into it...

"Miles," Lieutenant Yew fixed her stare on him, "You're awful quiet. How did it go in Naples?"

"Sorry, you know I can't talk about the hearing."

"That's fine, but how are you?"

Miles blinked at her and then smiled at his plate, "I'm sorry, I'm still in shock about it... You see I've recently discovered that Lieutenant Lang is a fan of Taylor Swift—and I find that rather disconcerting."

Lieutenant Yew stared at him—speechless. Lang frowned and made an exaggerated show of scraping his fork against his plate.

"Miles how many times do we have to explain to you that you don't have to be so formal all the—"

Lieutenant Yew started laughing. Lang stared at her in surprise, mouth agape—she was laughing at him. Miles glanced between the two of them, smiling. He had half a mind to laugh with her.

"Cali don't laugh—" Lang's tone was cajoling, "You knew about it—"

"He... Heee..." She clutched her stomach and gasped for breath, "He said it was... He said... it's... ' _I find that rather disconcerting!_ ' Oh my gawd!"

She laughed so hard she fell out of her seat. Miles scrambled out of his seat to help her up catching a disdainful glare from Lang as he did so.

He was in a much lighter mood after lunch and entered the legal spaces with a slight smile and an air of congeniality.

"Hi El Tee!" LN1 bobbed in her seat when he entered and he nodded at her in greeting. He swept their cramped space with a discerning eye before looking back at her.

"LN1, where is Justice?"

She stared vapidly at him for several moments, "Uh... Sir... Is that a rhetorical question?"

Miles blinked, "No. I meant LN3 Justice. Where is he?"

"Oh, he's off helping Lieutenant Payne with something."

Miles frowned, "Who is Lieutenant Payne?"

"Oh, he's the ship's Legal Officer. I guess he heard that you'd left for Naples so he came by to help out."

"A Legal Officer..?"

"Yeah. He's not very pleasant," LN1 tapped the top of her head, "And I think he was planning a hostile takeover in your absence."

"I was only gone for a couple of days," Miles said, eyelids drooping with disdain, "Surely one of you could've explained to him that—"

"I tried El Tee! Honest! But he's curmudgeonly and gross and he wouldn't listen to me. You know how those officers can get."

"I'm an officer," Miles noted.

"But you're different! You're a JAG—I mean a for real JAG! You're not like the rest of them."

Miles decided against asking her to explain herself—he didn't want to risk injuring her—and sighed wearily, "Where are they? I can go meet—"

"Lieutenant Edgeworth!" LN3 dropped a box at his feet and grinned up at Miles.

"Speak of the devil," LN1 quipped.

"How did it go? I heard HM1 is going to the brig."

"Yes, well, you shouldn't discuss a case that is still awaiting judgment—you know that."

"Right sir!" LN3 said enthusiastically, tapping his forehead in a salute, "We're glad to have you back, sir!"

"Ah, so you're Lieutenant Edgeworth," he was an older man with a high forehead made larger by a severely receded hairline. He held out a hand for Miles while his other hand was occupied in adjusting his thick horn-rimmed glasses.

Miles accepted his handshake politely, "Yes, I'm Miles Edgeworth. Lieutenant Payne, I presume?"

"Yes, you presume correctly. I'm Winston Payne. I'm the ship's Legal Officer."

"So I've been told," Miles tapped his chin scrupulously, "I wonder that we haven't met before now...?"

"Ah, well... I am the _ship's Legal Officer_ —so I stay pretty busy. I imagine a rookie like you needed time to let everything sink in."

Miles stared incredulously at him, "Riiight..."

"Anyway, I popped in the other day—figured I'd make sure the docket didn't get back-logged while you were gone. Especially since you left these two on their own with no direction—"

"I was only gone for two days! I assure you there is nothing back—"

"No need to get defensive, son," Payne held up his hands, "I understand it's easy to get sidetracked—especially when you're young and inexperienced. That's why I'm here to help you out."

Miles clenched his teeth in a futile attempt to quell his rising ire, "I do very well without—"

"No need to get defensive, rookie," Payne wagged his head cockily, "I've been in your shoes before. I know how it gets when you're overwhelmed. How things start to pile up and little issues become big problems—"

"Mister Payne," Miles interjected, perhaps a little more forcefully than he'd intended, "While I do appreciate your concern, I certainly have no need of your—"

"Then how do you explain this?" Payne held up a tri-folder and shot Miles a gloating smirk.

"What is that?"

"Just a complaint filed against one of the Air Wing officers—it seems there's a pilot in the Growler Squadron who likes to dip his quill in forbidden ink—if you catch my meaning…"

Miles glared hard at Lieutenant Payne and then grabbed the folder out of his hands.

He came in late that night and Lang was already in his rack.

"Hey," Lang mumbled half-asleep.

"Sorry," Miles said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No…" Lang sounded like he'd been asleep, "I wasn't asleep. Did you see him?"

Miles shook his head and then realized it was too dark for Lang to see the gesture, "No. They were still briefing or something… I'll try to find him in the morning."

"I told you, though, didn't I?"

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," Miles felt around blindly in the dark until he found the desk chair and pulled it out so he could sit and remove his boots, "People seem to have nothing better to do than gossip on this stupid boat."

Lang made a noise in the dark. It took Miles a moment to realize he was laughing.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Ack! More Scuttlebutt! Thanks for sticking with this!_**

 _Is Lang friend or foe?_

 _Is Phoenix really fraternizing with enlisted sailors?_

 _Is that really Winston Payne? (Why yes, yes it is!)_

 _Just a minor note:_

 _Miles Edgeworth is a JAG. He's actually a lawyer._

 _Winston Payne is an LDO. He is the Legal Officer, but NOT a lawyer._

 _This becomes a point of contention later..._


End file.
